• 


I 


I 


•'.' 


Present! 


THE  FLICKERING  MATCH  REVEALED  US  TO  EACH  OTHER 

Page  249 


A  Hand  in  the  Game 


By 

Gardner  Hunting 


With  frontispiece  by 
J.  N.  MARCHAND 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY    HOLT   AND    COMPANY 
1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1911, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  October,  igii 


RAMWAT,    N.    J. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     CERTAIN  HIGH  CARDS i 

II.     A  QUARREL  ESPOUSED         .....  9 

III.  UNKNOWN  GROUND 21 

IV.  A  FIGHT  FOR  ITS  OWN  SAKE       ....  36 
V.     A  DAYLIGHT  MYSTERY 53 

VI.    AN  INHERITANCE  WAITS 65 

VII.    THRUST  UNDER  GUARD 77 

VIII.    SHEER  HAZARD 91 

IX.    A  COMPANION  OF  LUCK 106 

X.     NOT  ALWAYS  TO  THE  BOLD         .        .        .        .123 

XI.     NOR  TO  THE  PATIENT 134 

XII.     SOMETIMES  TO  THE  WISE 144 

XIII.     SHAKEN  CONFIDENCE 151 

XIV.     HEARTS  INSURGENT 162 

XV.     A  LONG-ARMED  ENEMY 171 

XVI.     WOUNDS  OF  A  FRIEND 179 

XVII.    A  MEETING  IN  THE  DARK 192 

XVIII.    THE  ODOR  OF  EVIDENCE 205 

XIX.     A  SLEEPING  POTION 217 

XX.    WITH  CHANCE  AS  PILOT 228 

XXI.    MATCH-LIGHT 238 

XXII.    THE  REACH  OF  THE  LAW 249 

iii 


2136017 


iv  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XXIII.  OBSTACLE  RACE  FOR  Two 25g 

XXIV.  LOVE  OUT  OF  LEASH    ....  2nj 
XXV.  A  GHOST  THAT  SMOKED      ....  2g3 

XXVI.  THE  WAY  OF  A  SPY 2Q4 

XXVII.  VENUS  GIVES  UP  A  SECRET  ...        *        .  303 

XXVIII.  WHAT  COULDN'T  BE  HELPED      .        .        .  3I2 


A   Hand  in   the   Game 


CHAPTER  I 
CERTAIN  HIGH  CARDS 

A  VICIOUSLY  thrown  snowball  missed  the  tar- 
get at  which  it  was  hurled  by  my  reckless  hand, 
and  struck  one  that  was  chosen  by  my  fate.  A  pair 
of  red  lips,  sweet  and  tender  and  beautiful,  and  my 
cruel  little  missile,  mischievously  flung  in  wanton 
carelessness,  came  into  conjunction  like  the  stars  in 
a  plotted  horoscope,  foretelling  a  strange  new  for- 
tune for  me. 

She  was  slender  and  small  and  dark  and  lovely 
as  the  loveliest  red  rose  that  ever  opened  its  flushed 
petals  to  the  day.  I  was  a  great,  blundering  young 
giant  with  more  strength  than  sense,  more  pug- 
nacity than  judgment,  more  hair-brained  reckless- 
ness than  sober  experience.  It  was  April — yes, 
April  with  snow — and  spring  was  in  the  air  after 
one  parting  norther  had  trailed  a  white  wake  across 
the  wide  flat  countryside.  She  was  at  home  in  the 
little  suburban  village  where  the  train  that  carried 
me  cityward  had  been  stopped  by  the  mere  accident 
of  a  freight-spill — though  I  call  it  by  a  different 
name  now.  And  I,  who  had  been  playing  in  very 
ordinary  luck  but  to  whom  fortune  had  just  dealt 
certain  wonderful  cards,  was  a  mere  stranger, 


2  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

halted  by  very  chance  for  an  hour  at  a  spot  I  had 
never  seen  before  and  might  have  thought  I  would 
never  see  again. 

I  aimed  my  snowball  at  nothing  greater  than  the 
wooden  cigar  Indian  that  stood  before  the  corner 
door  of  the  small  hotel  where  I  had  had  a  scanty 
luncheon.  And  she  came  round  the  corner  just  in 
time  for  the  flying  frozen  sphere  to  deal  the  blow 
that  literally  broke  a  way  for  me  into  her  life. 

I  have  never  done  a  thing  that  humiliated  me 
more.  I  ran  to  her,  where  she  stopped  and  stood, 
half  dazed  by  the  sudden  shock,  both  little  slim 
gloved  hands  to  her  face.  And  then  I  saw  that  she 
was  lovely. 

I  was  twenty-four  then.  It  is  not  an  age  of  dis- 
cretion. I  considered  myself  an  experienced  man 
of  the  world.  I  had  traveled,  worked,  loafed, 
played.  I  had  faced  some  luck  and  some  need.  I 
had  tasted  some  bitter  and  some  sweet.  I  had 
known  comfort  and  seen  times  when  the  expectation 
of  a  supper  was  the  sum  of  my  wealth.  I  thought 
that  was  all  experience.  But  I  had  not  loved. 

Chance  does  not  do  things  by  halves.  It  was 
neither  merit  nor  demerit  of  mine  that  had  shuf- 
fled the  cards.  I  had  come  to  this  place  because  a 
strange  turn  of  the  wheel  had  brought  me.  And  I 
had  been  stopped  by  an  unforeseen  thing.  I  had 
chanced  to  lunch  at  the  hotel,  and  to  throw  the 
snowball.  When  my  Uncle  John  Randall  had  died, 
a  rich  and  lonely  old  man — my  only  connection 


Certain  High  Cards  3 

with  whom  during  his  life  was  the  fact  that  good  old 
Maggie  Valentine,  who  had  nursed  me  at  the  be- 
ginning of  my  life,  when  my  mother  died,  had 
nursed  him  at  the  end  of  his — when  Uncle  John  had 
died  and  had  left  to  me,  his  hitherto  apparently  un- 
loved and  unwanted  nephew,  all  of  his  considerable 
possessions,  I  had  thought  it  sufficiently  astonish- 
ing. Poor  old  Uncle  John!  I  misjudged  him.  He 
said  he  gave  me  his  money  because  I  was  good  to 
Maggie  Valentine.  That  showed  a  soft  spot  in  his 
heart,  certainly.  But  the  reason  was  not  convinc- 
ing. I  had  written  to  Maggie  for  years,  since  I 
had  first  learned  where  she  was,  and  had  sent  her 
a  little  money.  If  that  was  the  reason  for  sur- 
prising favor  from  fortune,  I  recommend  the 
method  as  a  pleasant  one.  But  fortune  only  com- 
menced with  that. 

She  stood  quite  still  in  the  sunlight — the  girl — 
a  beautiful  little  figure,  full  of  lithe  grace,  lovely 
in  every  line,  from  the  slender  fingers  that  touched 
the  smooth  shining  bands  of  her  dark  hair,  under 
the  modish  hat,  to  the  slim  foot  that  was  making  its 
narrow  print  in  the  untrodden  snow.  I  could  not 
choose  but  see  that,  startled  as  I  was  at  what  I  had 
done.  She  stood  still  and  listened  while  I  made 
apology.  Then  she  raised  her  face  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Of  course  you  did  not  mean  to,"  she  said. 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not.  I  threw  at  the  wooden  figure 
and  missed,  and  you  came  around  the  corner." 

She  dried  the  spattered  melting  snow  from  her 


4  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

face,  and  the  trickling  blood  from  her  lips.  The 
small  handkerchief  she  used  was  criss-crossed  with 
the  red  marks,  and  dampened  "with  the  water.  I 
clumsily  offered  mine.  I  stood  awkwardly  and 
watched,  conscious  at  once  of  the  wish  to  give  better 
reparation,  and  of  the  wonder  I  felt  at  her  utter 
lack  of  resentment  for  the  pain  and  shock  I  had 
inflicted. 

"  Isn't  there — anything  I  can  do?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  answered.  But  she  took 
my  handkerchief,  too — luckily  a  reasonably  fine  one 
I  chanced  to  possess. 

"  I  feel  very  guilty — very  eager  to  make  some 
reparation — and  I  am  as  glad  that  I  have  not  in- 
jured you  as  I  am,  frankly,  astonished  at  your  good 
nature.  Most  girls  would  have  been  furious. 
Won't  you  let  me  see  how  much  it  is  cut  ?  " 

She  laughed  a  little.  "  It's  only  bruised.  But 
see,  I  am  ruining  your  handkerchief." 

She  held  out  my  handkerchief.  The  narrow  red 
lines  showed  upon  it  also.  I  was  distressed,  indeed. 
I  looked  at  the  fine  little  white  teeth  as  they  showed 
in  the  first  real  smile  she  had  allowed.  She  was 
rather  remarkably  serious  for  so  kind  and  gracious 
a  little  lady.  I  cursed  my  own  clumsiness  and  my 
present  lack  of  ideas  to  suggest  a  proper  repara- 
tion. Also  I  could  not  but  feel  the  charm  of  her 
and  wish  that  I  could  leave  a  better  impression. 

"  Surely,  you  can  think  of  something  I  should  do 
to — make  up,"  I  urged. 


Certain  High  Cards  £ 

"  There's  nothing  to  make  up."  She  smiled 
again,  sweetly,  gently,  with  frank  good  will,  and 
no  coquettishness.  There  was  only  the  slightest 
hint  of  a  personal  interest  in  me,  in  the  one  glance 
she  cast  over  my  great,  hulking  figure.  Perhaps  the 
pique  to  my  vanity  had  to  do  with  the  spur  I  felt 
to  compel  her  consideration. 

"  Then,  if  I  am  quite  forgiven "    I  paused. 

'  You  are  quite  forgiven.  I "  She  inter- 
rupted herself  abruptly  and  looked  into  my  eyes 
with  sudden  quick  appeal. 

"  I  know,"  I  answered  promptly.  "  You  have 
thought  of  something  I  can  do." 

'  You  could — do  one  thing  for  me — if  you  will," 
she  added,  with  a  frankness  that  was  not  incon- 
sistent with  her  reserve. 

"  I  am  at  your  service." 

She  looked  at  me  again  earnestly.  Her  eyes  were 
dark  and  deep  and  beautiful.  Her  brows  were 
straight.  Her  features  were  fine  and  clean-cut. 
Her  lips,  despite  the  slightly  swollen  bruise  on  one, 
showed  a  firm,  sweet  line.  The  contour  of  her 
cheek  and  chin  was  lovely.  Her  throat  was  white 
and  slender.  She  was  young, — just  out  of  girl- 
hood, and  she  was  beautiful. 

"  I  haven't  any  right,"  she  said  gravely.  "  But 
I'm  going  to  take  you  at  your  word.  Curiously 
enough,  I  am  in  difficulty  and  I  have  no  one  at  the 
moment  to  serve  me." 

'  Then  let  me,  please." 


6  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  I  will,  and  thank  you.  It's  only  to  take  this 
letter  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  across  the  street  and 
deliver  it.  A  friend  was  to  have  delivered  it  for 
me,  but  he  did  not  come  and  it  will  not  wait." 

She  held  out  a  business-like  looking  letter  and  I 
took  it.  It  was  addressed  in  a  delicate  hand  and 
bore  an  unfamiliar  name. 

"  The  name  is  on  it.  It's  for  a  man  named  Jud- 
son  Bain.  His  office  is  the  first  at  the  head  of 
those  stairs  there  by  the  hardware  store  and  his 
name  is  on  the  door.  It  will  relieve  me  of  consid- 
erable embarrassment  if  you  will  deliver  it  to  him." 

Somewhat  surprised  at  the  request  I  yet  did  not 
find  it  a  thing  to  cavil  at.  It  seemed  still  more 
gracious  in  her  to  give  me  a  small  service  to  per- 
form. It  would  make  my  parting  from  her  after 
our  rough  introduction  more  graceful.  I  took  the 
letter. 

"  I  shall  take  this  as  a  sign  of  full  pardon,"  I 
said. 

She  bowed,  and  smiled  a  little  as  she  had  smiled 
before.  She  yielded  me  my  handkerchief  too,  seem- 
ingly with  half  unconscious  movement.  And  then 
she  turned  rather  sharply  away. 

I  raised  my  hat  and  wheeled  to  cross  the  street. 
I  was  loath  to  lose  sight  of  her  but  I  could  not 
stand  and  stare.  The  two  or  three  companions 
from  the  belated  train,  who  had  been  with  me  and 
had  witnessed  my  exploit,  were  standing  in  a  door- 
way, looking  smilingly  on.  I  was  conscious  of 


Certain  High  Cards  7 

them  again  and  of  their  amused  looks.  But  I  did 
not  turn  my  head.  Indeed,  my  eyes  held  the  vision 
of  the  sweet  face  at  which  I  had  looked,  and  my 
mind  was  busy  with  the  odd  suddenness  with  which 
she  had  acceded  to  my  begging  to  be  allowed  to 
serve  her.  It  was  curious,  too,  that  she  had  ac- 
knowledged that  she  was — in  difficulty.  That  had 
been  her  expression — rather  a  strong  one. 

I  crossed  the  street.  At  the  opposite  pavement 
I  turned  to  look  back.  I  could  not  forbear,  for  curi- 
osity alone  would  have  compelled  it.  The  girl  was 
not  in  sight  but  I  saw  faces  at  the  windows  of  shops 
and  knew  that  my  fellow-travelers  had  not  been 
the  only  witnesses  of  the  episode.  I  quickly  re- 
gretted my  backward  glance  and  was  quicker  still 
to  pursue  my  errand.  I  crossed  the  pavement  and 
entered  the  stairway  that  had  been  indicated. 

I  began  to  have  a  rather  poignant  sense  of  having 
lost  something  I  would  gladly  have  kept,  as  the  feel- 
ing came  that  the  girl  had  actually  gone  beyond 
my  reach.  Five  minutes  before  I  had  not  known  of 
her  existence.  After  that  one  brief  moment  of 
surprising  contact — the  impression  she  left,  the  im- 
pression of  her  beauty  and  of  her  boylike  frankness 
and  generosity — for  boylike  they  were — had  been 
strong.  As  wonder  at  the  odd  happening  began  to 
mount,  as  I  winced  again  at  thought  of  the  vicious 
little  blow  I  had  struck,  as  I  saw  again  the  scarlet 
thread  on  the  smooth  little  chin,  and  then  the  smile 
on  the  bruised  lips,  I  felt  the  sudden  tug  of  desire 


8  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

that  is  so  prompt  of  birth  in  young  blood — in  April 
— yes,  even  in  a  snow- feathered  April,  which  is  an 
abnormal  thing  and  so  may  possess  abnormal  power 
in  its  ever  mysterious  influences.  And  I  wished  an- 
other card  from  the  hand  of  the  dealer — just  one 
more — that  should  make  the  rest  worth  while. 

I  did  not  know — as  I  mounted  the  narrow  wooden 
stairs  to  the  second  floor  of  the  two-story  village 
building,  and  stood  before  the  door  bearing  the 
name  of  the  man  she  had  mentioned — I  did  not 
know  that  the  thing  was  already  done;  that  already 
I  held  the  full  hand  with  which  I  was  to  play  my 
game,  that  the  first  trick  lay  before  me,  and  that 
the  stakes  were  to  be  life  itself  and  the  prize  of  my 
dreams;  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  laid  my  wager 
on  the  cloth  and  had  no  choice  now  but  to  play. 


CHAPTER  II 
A  QUARREL  ESPOUSED 

T  OPENED  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 

saw  a  bald,  heavy-set,  short-necked  man  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  a  dingy  office  strewn  with  a 
strange  chaos  of  books  and  papers.  I  stepped  inside 
and  spoke  the  name  on  the  envelope.  I  saw  the 
fat  face  of  him  puckered  with  wrath  and  a  look  so 
sinister  in  his  eyes  that  I  thought  of  defense  in  the 
first  instant  they  turned  on  me.  Then  I  gave  the  let- 
ter into  his  outstretched  hand,  saw  him  tear  it  open, 
read  three  lines  and  turn,  livid  with  rage,  upon  me. 

"  And  who  in  the  fiend's  name  are  you?  " 

I  did  not  answer  him.  It  was  too  thoroughly 
surprising  an  insult. 

'  You  have  the  nerve  to  bring  me  this  ?  By  the 
Lord  Harry,  I  have  a  notion  to  brain  you !  " 

I  found  my  tongue.  I  was  not  built  to  take  abuse. 
It  was  amazing  enough,  but  I  saw  no  reason  in  that 
for  mild  expostulation. 

"  Begin,"  I  said  to  him  briefly. 

For  answer  he  wheeled  and  caught  up  a  heavy 
walking-stick  from  the  side  of  the  big  desk  and 
his  voice  bellowed  out  a  great  hoarse  cry. 

"  Scancey !  "  he  shouted,  a  call  to  some  aid  or 

9 


io  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

friend.  "  Scancey,  come  here !  He's  sent  a  great 
cub  to  add  insult  to  injury !  Come  here !  " 

He  whirled  again  and  faced  me,  belligerent.  I 
was  astounded,  but  my  blood  has  never  been  slow 
to  heat  and  I  do  not  love  humility.  It  is  not  the  part 
of  wisdom  to  strike  first  and  seek  explanation  after- 
wards, but  I  have  had  the  name  of  doing  so,  and 
when  a  man  strikes  me,  or  threatens,  it  is  his  to 
explain.  I  stood  still  and  waited. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  shouted  the  fellow,  staring  at 
me  now.  "  Isn't  it  enough  that  you've  robbed  us 
without  coming  here  to  threaten  more?  Do  you 
think  I  don't  understand  your  game  ?  " 

Still  I  said  nothing.  I  heard  hurrying  feet  in  an 
inner  office  and  a  little  chalk- faced,  ferret-eyed  man 
came  to  the  door  I  had  hardly  had  time  to  notice 
before. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  cried  at  me,  like  an  echo  of 
the  other.  "  Why  are  you  here  ?  What  have  you 
done?" 

I  turned  out  my  hands  toward  the  fat  imbecile 
before  me.  I  did  not  answer  the  second  better  than 
the  first.  I  faced  the  pair  of  them  with  my  fingers 
already  itching  to  crack  their  ugly  heads  together, 
for  they  were  ill-favored  enough. 

"Bain,  what  is  it?"  cried  the  small  man  in  the 
door. 

The  big  fellow  flung  the  note  he  held  upon  the 
table  behind  him.  "  Read  it  yourself,"  he  snarled. 
Then  to  me,  "  Get  out  of  here." 


A  Quarrel  Espoused  n 

"  When  you  explain  your  insulting  language." 

"Get  out  of  here — do  you  hear?"  he  roared. 
He  took  a  stride  forward  and  half  raised  his 
stick. 

"  If  you  strike  me  with  that  stick,  I'll  throw  you 
out  of  the  window,"  I  said.  I  was  growing  hugely 
excited  and  spoiling  for  the  fight. 

"  Wait,  Bain !  "  cried  the  other  man.  "  Wait ! 
Don't  be  hasty.  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  He  had 
picked  up  the  sheet  that  had  so  mysteriously  infuri- 
ated his  friend  and  read  it  in  a  glance. 

"  Did  you  bring  this?  "  he  asked  of  me. 

I  bowed.  "  I  had  the  honor,"  I  answered,  with 
impulse  to  irony  now  that  my  own  wrath  was  rising. 

"  Do  you  know  what  is  in  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

:t  You  lie !  "  cried  the  man  Bain  fiercely.  "  I  saw 
you  in  the  street  with  the  Philbric  girl.  I  saw  you 
coming  here." 

''  You  have  good  eyes,"  I  told  him. 

"  So  you're  the  new  ally,  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  the  fellow  who  brought  you  that  note  and 
whom  you  were  about  to  thrash.  I'm  waiting  for 
you — to  begin." 

"  Hold  on,  Judson.  Wait !  "  put  in  the  other  man 
sharply.  "  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked  me  with 
a  twisted  effort  at  a  propitiatory  grimace. 

"  It  has  no  bearing  on  the  present  case." 

"  It  has." 

"  Well,  my  name  is  not  Philbric,"  I  answered. 


12  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Did  you  come  here  to  pick  a  fight  ?  "  interrupted 
the  man  Bain. 

"  I  am  not  averse  to  one.  But  you  are  the  man 
who  is  inviting  trouble." 

"What  do  you  call  that?"  He  pointed  back  to 
the  letter  in  the  other's  grasp. 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  red  rag  to  you." 

He  yelled  a  curse.  On  the  edge  of  explosion,  he 
let  himself  go  and  with  the  outburst  he  swung  his 
stick  and  aimed  a  smashing  blow  at  me. 

I  stepped  out  of  the  circle  of  his  reach.  Then  I 
stepped  in,  after  his  savage  swing  and  grappled  with 
him.  I  whirled  him  and  caught  his  wrist  as  he 
lifted  his  great  club  again.  Then  I  seized  his  elbow 
and  turned  it  in  and  under  with  a  trick  I  learned  at 
school  and  brought  him  to  his  knees,  with  his  heavy 
cane  crashing  to  the  floor.  And  he  squealed  like  a 
hurt  puppy. 

The  other  man  raised  a  scream  of  alarm.  He 
scrambled  to  get  something  from  a  drawer  that  I 
thought  might  be  a  gun.  I  stepped  over  my  fallen 
first  opponent,  seized  the  second  by  his  shoulders 
and  sent  him  spinning  against  the  glass  doors  of 
a  bookcase  by  the  side-wall.  He  crashed  into  them 
and  spilled  a  thousand  fragments  jangling  in  wild 
din  upon  the  floor.  Then  I  stooped  and  picked  up 
the  weapon  he  would  have  used  against  me.  It  was 
a  magazine  pistol. 

The  man  Bain  was  still  on  his  knees  with  his  hand 
clapped  to  the  shoulder  I  had  twisted.  His  eyes 


A  Quarrel  Espoused  13 

were  on  me  with  malevolence  burning  in  them  like 
something  molten.  His  lips  were  white  with  his 
passion.  His  coat  was  hunched  up  behind  his  ears 
till  it  robbed  him  of  even  the  appearance  of  a  neck 
and  his  fat  body  so  crouched  upon  the  rug  that  he 
looked  like  a  great  pig. 

I  pocketed  the  gun.  As  I  did  so  I  saw  the  offend- 
ing sheet  of  note-paper  also  on  the  floor  at  my  feet. 
I  picked  it  up  and  glanced  in  sheer  curiosity  at  its 
contents.  If  ever  a  man  had  a  right  to  read  an- 
other's letter  I  felt  that  I  had  earned  mine.  This  is 
what  it  contained : 

"  JUDSON  BAIN,  City. 

"  Sir:  I  have  only  commenced,  as  you  will  soon 
discover.    I  know  how  to  meet  your  attacks.    I  have 
a  new  ally  who  can  make  it  hot  for  you  if  you  at- 
tempt underhand  methods.    Be  warned  in  time. 
(Signed)         "  HAROLD  PHILBRIC." 

I  folded  the  sheet  carefully.  It  was  only  mys- 
tery to  me.  It  gave  me  no  clue  as  to  why  I  had 
been  involved  except  that  some  colossal  misunder- 
standing had  arisen.  But  the  brief  scene  of  violence 
had  stirred  me  too  deeply  for  me  to  be  content  to 
withdraw  now.  It  was  only  clear  that  the  girl  I 
had  met  in  the  street  through  such  an  odd  accident 
was  enmeshed  in  strange  difficulty  with  two  such 
men  as  these  to  whose  office  she  herself  had  sent  me. 
I  could  not  contemplate  them  and  my  memory  of 
her  and  doubt  as  to  which  side  might  merit  my  al- 


14  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

legiance.  Anything  I  could  do  to  embarrass  this 
pair  could  hardly  fail  to  be  a  blow  in  her  cause  and 
the  prompting  to  it  was  urgent. 

I  stooped  and  handed  the  note  again  to  Judson 
Bain  in  pure  spirit  of  mischief  now. 

"  Don't  forget  that  I  delivered  this,"  I  said. 
"  Philbric  may  want  to  be  sure." 

He  took  the  paper  and  held  it  before  him.  His 
partner  was  picking  himself  lamely  from  the  wreck 
of  the  bookcases  and  nursing  a  cut  on  his  hand. 

"  You'll  pay  a  dear  price  for  this,  young  man," 
he  volunteered,  his  face  a  shade  whiter  if  possible 
than  before.  But  the  odd  gesture  he  used — a  sweep 
of  his  hand  that  seemed  to  indicate  all  the  havoc 
that  had  previously  been  wrought  in  the  office  as 
well  as  the  wreck  I  had  caused — arrested  my  at- 
tention. 

"  For  this  ? "  I  repeated,  mimicking  his  move- 
ment. "How  so?" 

'  You  are  clearly  involved." 

"  I  seem  to  be  involved,  but  I  did  not  start  this 
fight." 

"  It's  not  going  to  be  hard  to  prove  who  robbed 
this  office  last  night,  and  why." 

"  And  am  I  involved  in  that  also  ?  It  may  prove 
interesting  to  learn  the  extent  to  which  I  have 
stepped  into  your  affairs." 

"You'll  learn  quickly  enough." 

"  Let  us  hope  so.  But  if  you  can  learn  anything 
on  your  own  part,  you'd  better  take  a  lesson  from 


A  Quarrel  Espoused  15 

this  first  experience.  I  won't  be  so  gentle  next 
time." 

It  was  pure  bravado  this,  of  course.  But  I  loved 
to  bait  them  then.  I  was  utterly  in  the  dark  still 
and  the  fault  was  not  mine.  Besides,  the  idea  that 
I  was  harassing  an  enemy  of  the  girl  I  had  seen, 
however  strange  it  might  be  that  she  should  possess 
such  enemy,  was  beginning  to  be  a  joy  to  me.  I 
bethought  me  that  I  could  further  espouse  her  cause 
if  I  chose  by  making  much  of  this  quarrel,  and  the 
impulse  became  paramount.  I  stood  still  by  the  door 
and  drew  out  my  pocketbook.  Taking  from  it  a 
card  I  wrote  the  name  of  the  small  hotel  across  the 
way  upon  it  and  laid  it  on  a  table  by  the  door. 

''  That  will  be  my  address  for  twenty-four  hours," 
I  promised,  at  a  hazard.  "  I  shall  spend  my  time 
making  it  hot  for  you  for  the  sort  of  thing  you've 
handed  to  me  here  this  afternoon.  Good-day." 

I  went  out  and  down  the  stairs.  I  was  so  tre- 
mendously, delightfully  excited  now,  that  I  could 
scarcely  show  a  calm  exterior  as  I  stepped  into  the 
street.  Immediately,  however,  I  forgot  the  effort, 
for  excitement  was  everywhere  abroad.  People 
were  gathering  in  a  crowd.  Everywhere  there  were 
running  figures  coming  toward  the  corner  where  I 
stood.  At  the  very  bottom  of  the  stairway  a  half 
dozen  men  were  gathered  with  every  evidence  of 
interest  in  the  doorway  from  which  I  came  and  in 
the  office  above.  I  stepped  almost  into  their  midst 
and  they  turned  upon  me  as  one. 


16  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  some  one 
asked. 

The  question  seemed  ludicrous  enough  to  me.  It 
is  only  a  step  from  the  tragic  to  the  comic  and  I 
had  been  keyed  almost  to  the  former  pitch  a  moment 
before.  I  laughed  outright.  They  stared  at  me  as 
if  fairly  aghast  at  my  appearance. 

"  I  have  just  visited  Judson  Bain  and  Mr. 
Scancey,"  I  answered.  - 

"  Scancey !  "  The  exclamation  was  from  three 
or  four  at  once. 

"  Certainly,"  said  I.  "  Have  you  such  a  thing  as 
a  policeman  or  a  town  officer  here  ?  " 

The  crowd  was  pressing  in.  The  people  had  eyes 
for  no  one  but  me  and  they  seemed  possessed  by 
some  tremendous  interest  far  beyond  any  curiosity 
that  could  have  been  roused  by  possible  noise  over- 
heard from  our  brief  fight  above. 

"  Is  Scancey  up  there?  "  asked  a  short,  heavy-set 
fellow  with  rather  good  brown  eyes  who  pushed  a 
little  forward. 

"  A  man  whom  Bain  calls  Scancey  is  up  there," 
I  replied.  "  He  tried  to  pot  me  with  this  gun  a  mo- 
ment ago." 

I  drew  the  magazine  pistol  from  my  pocket. 

"  Shot  you?  "  exclaimed  the  chorus. 

"  Well,  hardly,"  said  I.    "  He  meant  to." 

"  Wheeler  Scancey  ?  "  queried  the  stocky  man 
with  odd  insistence. 

"  I  don't  know  the  man  myself,"  I  answered. 


A  Quarrel  Espoused  17 

"  He  is  a  little  chalk-faced  chap  who  is  too  slow  with 
a  gun  to  afford  to  make  the  play." 

The  questioner  turned  to  the  others.  "  Then  it 
isn't  true!  "  he  said.  "  If  Scancey  is  here,  he  isn't 
at  The  Hazels." 

"  That  sounds  reasonable,"  said  I.  "  But  where's 
your  constable?  " 

"  I'm  town  marshal,"  he  answered,  turning  back 
to  me. 

'  Then  take  this  gun  and  my  complaint  against 
this  Scancey  and  this  Bain.  I  went  to  their  office 
on  a  peaceable  errand — for  Miss  Philbric,  and  they 
tried  pretty  well  to  kill  me." 

"Philbric!" 

Again  they  echoed  the  name  I  spoke. 

"Are  you  a  friend  of  the  Philbrics?"  cried  a 
tall  fellow,  who  was  not  in  the  front  rank.  He  was 
a  handsome  well-dressed  young  chap  of  a  different 
class  from  the  rougher  men  about  me. 

"  I  think  I  may  fairly  consider  myself  so,"  I  said. 

He  pushed  forward.  "  What  do  you  know  of 
this  shooting?"  he  asked.  "  Have  you  come  from 
the  house?  Did  you  see  Donna  here  a  few  minutes 
ago  ?  Are  you  the  one  who  took  her  note  ?  " 

I  stared  at  him.  "Shooting?"  I  repeated. 
"  There  was  no  shooting.  I  took  the  gun  away  from 
the  little  fool." 

He  stared  at  me  in  turn,  as  much  puzzled  by  what 
I  answered  as  I  at  his  questions. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  he  asked. 


i8  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  My  name  is  Dan  Randall.  I  am  the  nephew  of 
the  late  John  Randall,  who  if  I  mistake  not  was 
known  hereabouts," 

My  uncle  had  been  one  of  the  rich  men  of  his 
state.  It  was  a  safe  guess  that  the  people  of  his  city 
and  suburbs  were  acquainted  with  his  name  and 
fame  though  I  knew  them  not  and  they  knew  not  me. 

"You  are  Dan  Randall?" 

I  bowed.    "  And  you  ?  " 

But  he  did  not  answer  the  question.  He  put  an- 
other instead,  while  the  crowding  people  and  the 
self-styled  officer  of  the  law  hung  upon  his  words 
and  mine. 

"  Were  you  at  The  Hazels  when  this  shooting 
occurred  ?  "  he  almost  demanded  of  me. 

It  seemed  time  for  plain  speaking.  If  shooting 
there  had  been — and  he  appeared  to  insist  upon  it — 
there  was  another  mystery  forming  here  that  needed 
no  half-answers  to  befog  it  further. 

"  I  have  not  been  to  The  Hazels,"  I  said  as  ex- 
plicitly as  I  could,  "  and  I  know  of  no  shooting." 

A  general  exclamation  went  up.  I  gazed  around 
the  wide-eyed  circle  for  explanation,  but  they  looked 
back  at  me  in  what  seemed  sheer  stupid  daze.  But 
the  young  chap  who  had  usurped  the  place  of  ques- 
tioner came  closer  and  put  his  hand  on  my  arm. 

"  This  is  a  strange  mix-up,"  he  said.  "  I  don't 
understand  and  I  don't  believe  you  do.  Did  you 
know  that  Hal  Philbric  killed  a  man  at  The  Hazels 
an  hour — half  an  hour — ago?  " 


A  Quarrel  Espoused  19 

"  No,"  said  I  simply.  I  had  no  thought  to  say 
more,  for  my  mind  leaped  to  the  girl  I  had  seen. 
Clearly  this  name  Philbric  was  hers.  Who  the  man 
Harold  or  Hal  might  be,  whether  father  or  brother, 
it  was  only  possible  to  guess;  but  he  was  undoubt- 
edly close  to  her.  That  something  tragic  had  hap- 
pened and  that  it  concerned  her  nearly  was  too  evi- 
dent now  to  doubt.  But  as  I  remembered  her  sweet 
face,  despite  the  cloud  of  trouble  I  thought  I  had 
detected  upon  it,  I  could  read  in  it  no  sign  of  knowl- 
edge of  tragedy. 

But  the  man  before  me  pressed  his  queries. 
"  Didn't  you  talk  with  Donna  ten  minutes  ago  ? 
They  told  me  you  were  in  the  street  with  her." 

"  I  was,"  I  answered,  piecing  my  information 
swiftly  together.  "  It  was  on  her  errand  I  came 
over  here." 

"  Then  she  did  not  know?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it  possible  she  could  have  known 
anything  so  tragic,"  said  I. 

He  looked  searchingly  in  my  eyes.  He  had  a 
fine  eye  of  his  own  and  a  good  keen  look  in  it.  He 
was  dark,  well  set-up,  well-groomed — a  shade  too 
well-groomed  was  the  impression  I  remembered  of 
him  afterwards — but  a  gentleman. 

"  Better  come  with  me,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  I 
have  my  car  at  the  corner.  We'll  go  out  at  once — 
when  you've  attended  to  your  hurt." 

"My  hurt?" 

"  Yes.      Your   face    is    cut — rather    severely    I 


2O  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

should  think.  Shall  we  go  to  the  drug  store  here 
and  have  it  patched  up?  It  should  be  done  before 
we  go,  though  we'll  take  as  little  time  as  possible." 
I  put  my  hand  up  to  my  cheek  and  felt  it  wet. 
I  looked  at  my  fingers  and  saw  on  them  new  stains 
of  red. 


CHAPTER  III 
UNKNOWN  GROUND 

CHANCE  never  does  things  by  halves.  I  was 
convinced  that  morning  as  I  sat  beside  Bob 
King  in  his  motor  while  we  dashed  away  together 
down  a  spattery  country  road  without  regard  to 
water,  mud,  or  speed  laws.  I  had  sent  a  wire  to 
the  city  to  catch  the  baggage  I  had  left  in  my  train 
and  had  taken  him  at  his  word.  He  introduced 
himself.  He  was  a  friend,  he  said,  of  the  Philbric 
family.  He  vouchsafed  no  more  than  that,  and 
there  was  no  reason  why  he  should.  I  had  told 
him  practically  as  much — and  as  little — on  my  own 
part.  But  we  had  small  wish  to  speak  of  person- 
alities just  then.  Each  took  the  other  at  his  word 
and  on  the  evidence  that  eyes  could  collect  and  we 
talked  of  the  uppermost  thing  in  our  minds. 

"  I  have  little  enough  information,"  he  said. 
"  The  message  came  to  me  over  the  phone.  But 
nobody  else  knows  more.  It's  been  a  strange  series 
of  events — and  now  it's  come  to  tragedy." 

'  Tell  me  all  you've  heard,"  I  said  guardedly.  I 
had  no  wish  to  make  confession  to  him  that  an  hour 
earlier  I  had  been  the  veriest  stranger  and  outsider. 

21 


22  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  was  taking  enough  upon  myself  in  venturing  to 
accompany  him  at  his  invitation  to  the  home  of  the 
Philbrics  for  which  we  were  bound,  but  I  had  chosen 
between  this  and  tamely,  uselessly  remaining  behind. 
If  you  ask  excuse  or  motive  I  cannot  give  you 
better  ones  than  that  I  felt  I  had  found  a  plausi- 
ble reason  for  offering  my  help  in  the  quarrel  in 
which  I  had  already  been  involved  and  the  convic- 
tion that  the  shooting  at  the  Philbric  country-seat 
had  directly  to  do  with  the  case  in  which  my  after- 
noon's fracas  was  now  an  incident.  I  had  not  long 
to  wait  to  learn  the  accuracy  of  that  conjecture. 

"  Who  is  the  man  who  was  shot  ?  "  I  asked. 

"That's  the  queer  part,"  said  King,. with  scowl- 
ing brows.  "  I  heard  first  that  it  was  Wheeler 
Scancey.  That  was  the  impression  that  was  general 
in  town.  But  you  say  you  saw  him." 

"  I  have  an  impression  that  I  did,"  said  I  grimly. 

"  Then  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of  to  explain 
it  is  that  Hal's  telephone  message  must  have  been 
misunderstood.  Something  was  certainly  said  about 
Scancey." 

"Did  you  know,"  asked  I,  "that  the  office  of 
Bain  was  robbed  last  night  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he.  "  It  was  the  talk  of  the  town 
till  this  other  news  came." 

"  Is  there  any  connection  between  the  two  ?  " 

He  turned  for  an  instant  from  his  steadfast  gaze 
at  the  road  ahead  to  look  at  me.  "  Connection  ?  " 
he  repeated. 


Unknown  Ground  23 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  Did  any- 
thing lead  you  to  suppose  so  ?  " 

"  Only  coincidence.  Philbric's  note  infuriated 
Bain.  I  took  the  liberty  of  reading  it  after  they 
tried  to  beat  me  up  and  shoot  me  for  bringing 
it." 

"  What  was  in  it  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly.  "  I  can't 
imagine  why  that  boy  Hal  should  write  to  Bain. 
I  was  to  have  taken  the  note  for  Donna,  I  suppose 
you  know  ?  " 

He  ended  with  the  revealing  question.  The  girl 
had  told  me  that  I  was  a  substitute  messenger. 

"  Did  you  expect  a  fight?  "  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  thought  it  was  an  errand  of  peace- 
making. Heaven  knows  there's  been  trouble 
enough.  But  I  meant  to  find  out  for  Donna  what 
Hal  intended  before  I  took  the  note  up  to  Bain.  I 
missed  her,  however — and  she  gave  the  note  to 
you." 

There  was  a  sound  that  suggested  pique  in  his 
voice  as  he  spoke  the  last  sentence.  I  watched  his 
face.  It  was  good,  clean-cut,  square- jawed — the 
countenance  of  a  man.  I  liked  him,  though  I  had  al- 
ready scented  here  what  I  soon  learned  to  be  the 
truth — a  truth  that  is  not  far  to  seek  and  that 
stirred  a  strange  thing  in  my  heart  from  that  mo- 
ment as  I  thought  of  the  loveliness  of  Donna  Phil- 
brie.  But  the  expression  on  his  face  that  went  with 
the  words  was  fleeting  and  was  gone  in  a  moment. 


24  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  The  note  was  a  warning  to  Bain  which  seemed 
to  refer  to  some  new  method  Philbric  had  found  of 
fighting  him — a  new  ally,  it  said.  Bain  took  me  for 
the  new  ally." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  asked  King  abruptly. 

"  I'm  an  ally,"  I  answered  promptly. 

"  And  Scancey  tried  to  shoot,  did  he?  "  he  asked 
next  moment, 

"  I  suppose  he  thought  it  was  self-defense — or 
defense  of  Bain.  But  the  note  made  them  wild 
with  rage  at  me.  They  talked  to  me  of  the  robbery 
of  their  office  as  if  they  fairly  thought  I  was 
guilty,  with  the  implication  that  Philbric  had  to  do 
with  it." 

The  car  was  scudding  at  a  stiff  pace  between  fields 
where  the  tender  new  green  of  spring  growths  was 
pushing  through  the  light  snow  that  had  fallen  upon 
them.  It  was  pretty  country.  It  was  going  to  be 
beautiful  when  the  young  buds  on  tree  and  bush 
should  burst  into  leaf.  It  seemed  a  land  of  peace, 
certainly,  in  the  quiet  of  the  balmy  spring  day,  with 
the  sun  now  warm  and  bright  turning  the  snow  into 
water.  The  impression  of  strange  contrast  was 
strong  as  I  looked  off  across  the  shining  fields  and 
thought  of  the  amazing  errand  on  which  I  was  now 
engaged,  while  I  felt  the  stiff  surgeon's  plaster  across 
my  cheek-bone  at  the  edge  of  my  hair.  I  had  been 
close  to  injury,  it  appeared,  and  had  come  away 
quite  unconscious  of  the  fact ;  and  now  I  was  whirl- 
ing off  through  a  delightful  countryside  toward  ex~ 


Unknown  Ground  25 

perience  of  which  I  could  make  not  the  least  reason- 
able forecast  except  from  the  dismaying  nature  of 
the  news  my  companion  had  told. 

King,  however,  was  not  content  with  quiet  wait- 
ing. "  If  they  connected  Hal  with  such  a  thing  as 
that  office  robbery  they've  lost  something  that  would 
be  valuable  to  him.  That  seems  a  reasonable  deduc- 
tion, doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  does." 

"If  that  thing  would  be  valuable  enough  to  Hal 
so  that  it  suggests  itself  as  an  object  that  would 
tempt  him  to — rifle  their  files,  say — it  must  and  can 
have  to  do  only  with  Bain's  senatorial  aspirations 
and  Hal's  fight  against  him." 

I  did  not  answer.  This  was  unknown  ground. 
But  he  went  on  without  noting  my  silence  or  merely 
interpreting  it  as  assent. 

"Of  course  Hal  is  miles  above  such  methods. 
But  somebody  has  robbed  Bain — unless  this  is  a 
scheme  of  his  to  get  public  sympathy.  I  believe  he 
is  capable  of  any  deception,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  should  hardly  be  surprised  at  anything  he 
might  do,"  said  I. 

"  But  suppose  he  has  been  robbed,  what  can  be 
the  connection  with  this  astounding  thing  at  The 
Hazels?  " 

A  flash  of  suggestion  from  the  matters  he  had 
revealed  came  to  me.  "  If  a  thing  of  value  to  Hal 
in  his  war  on  Bain  has  been  lost,"  I  said  slowly,  "  it 
is  not  impossible  that  somebody  else  may  have  taken 


26  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

it  from  Bain  for  Philbric's  benefit."  My  mind  in- 
stantly leaped  speculatively  forward.  "It  is  con- 
ceivable that,  in  such  a  case — the  case  that  some 
fellow  had  stolen  something  from  Bain  and  offered 
it  to  Philbric — there  might  have  arisen  a  quarrel 
that  would  lead  to  a  shooting." 

King  guided  the  humming  machine  round  a  cor- 
ner at  a  rate  that  made  me  suddenly  cling  to  pre- 
serve my  balance  and  sent  us  skidding  fairly  out 
upon  the  snowy  grass  with  a  splashing  of  slush 
from  our  wheels  that  sounded  like  a  burst  of  escap- 
ing steam. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  briefly,  "  that's  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

"  That's  what  certainly  may  have  happened,"  I 
amended.  "  I  think  it  is  not  at  all  impossible  that 
there  is  a  case  of  blackmail  here." 

"  It  sounds  like  it — attempted  blackmail.  I  only 
hope "  He  stopped. 

"  You  hope  the  shooting  was  in  self-defense." 

"  Yes — not  in  the  heat  of  overwrought  indigna- 
tion. In  Hal's  condition  he  might — well,  he  might 
be  rash  if  he  were  much  stirred.  Poor  boy,  I  knew 
this  thing  would  be  his  undoing  if  he  didn't  give 
it  up.  Of  course  his  work  has  been  simply  amaz- 
ingly clever  for  so  young  a  man,  and,  naturally, 
after  the  enormous  stir  he  made  at  first  it  was  hard 
for  his  friends  to  spare  him.  But  it's  costing  dear 
now.  No  man  with  nerves  in  the  shape  his  are,  has 
any  right  to  carry  on  such  a  fight." 


Unknown  Ground  27 

I  was  silent  again.  Here  was  more  unknown  fact 
hinted  at.  Was  Philbric  a  sick  man? 

"  The  first  question  is,"  continued  King,  "  who 
is  the  man  who  is  shot  ?  On  that  will  depend  Hal's 
position."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  turned  to 
me  again.  "  Frankly,  Mr.  Randall,"  he  added,  "  I 
am  in  distress  with  the  fear  of  what's  going  to  hap- 
pen." 

"Distressed?" 

"Yes.  Suppose  they  should  be  able  to  bring  a 
charge  of  murder  against  Hal  Philbric?" 

"  You  are  anticipating." 

"I  know." 

"  Suppose  it  is  self-defense?  " 

"  Pray  God  it  may  be.    But  even  so " 

"What?" 

"  It  will  be  a  terrible  burden  on  that  poor  boy's 
mind.  You  know  how  little  he  can  endure 
now." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  quite  in  the  dark,  "  that  the 
killing  of  a  man  is  a  wretched  thing  to  have  in  your 
memory  even  if  you  are  innocent.  Perhaps,"  I  hesi- 
tated, "  perhaps  our  defense  of  Philbric  may  con- 
sist largely  of  protection  against  himself." 

This  was  a  hazard,  too,  and  I  watched  for  its 
effect.  But  my  companion  seemed  to  take  me  with- 
out suspicion  to  be  all  that  he  himself  was,  a  loyal 
friend  of  these  Philbrics.  I  liked  him  the  more  for 
that — not  unnaturally. 

"  I  suppose  poor  old  Aunt  Charlotte  will  be  in  a 


28  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

pitiable  state,"  he  said  after  a  moment  more.  "  And 
poor  Donna !  "  he  added  expressively. 

"  Did  she  come  directly  home?  "  I  asked,  feeling 
for  my  ground. 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  thought  we  might  overtake 
her.  But  she  drives  like  the  wind  when  she  wants 
to  hurry  and  I  can  imagine  her  hurry  after  that 
news  reached  her." 

We  had  run  something  like  a  mile  since  we  left 
the  village.  We  were  coming  to  the  outskirts  of 
a  wooded  country  that  was  visible  from  the  town 
and  through  which  my  train  had  come  that  morn- 
ing. As  I  looked  forward  into  the  vista  which 
the  road  ahead  entered,  the  sense  of  astonishment 
at  the  thing  that  was  happening  to  me  came  once 
again  strong  as  a  physical  sensation.  But  its  effect 
was  stimulating,  exhilarating.  A  battle  worth  while 
might  be  ahead  and  it  would  be  hard  indeed  if  I 
couldn't  be  given  a  share  in  it.  Knight-errant  I  was, 
to  be  sure — adventuring  soldier  of  fortune  might 
seem  the  complexion  of  my  role  to  this  girl  and  her 
unfortunate  brother;  but  I  meant  to  make  their 
cause  mine.  I  would  not  be  denied. 

At  another  turn  of  the  road  a  fine  white  country 
house,  set  high  up  and  well  back  among  the  trees, 
appeared  for  an  instant  on  the  left  not  far  away. 
In  a  moment  we  were  running  along  by  the  side  of 
fences  high  and  strong  that  bounded  a  wooded  park- 
like  domain,  suggesting  only  the  private  place. 
I  reached  the  natural  conclusion  that  it  was  our 


Unknown  Ground  29 

destination  just  before  my  companion  cut  down  his 
speed  and  turned  in  under  high  iron  gates  upon  a 
private  drive  and  we  sped  up  a  wide  sweep  with  the 
sputtering  snap  of  gravel  under  our  tires. 

It  was  but  a  moment  then  before  we  came  out 
through  the  screen  of  trees  and  swept  up  to  a  good 
old-fashioned  covered  porte  cochere  at  the  end  of 
a  beautiful  wide  veranda  where  the  April  sun  was 
shining  with  dazzling  brilliancy  on  boards  and  paths 
alike. 

There  was  little  evidence  of  disturbance  about 
the  place.  Before  King  had  stopped  his  engine  two 
servants  were  in  the  porch,  one  a  gray-haired, 
smooth-faced  butler  who  was  instantly  recognizable 
as  the  type  of  old  family  retainer,  now  major-domo 
of  the  establishment;  the  other  a  younger  man  who 
took  charge  of  the  car  at  once  with  a  familiar  word 
of  direction  from  its  owner  and  started  it  off  down 
the  drive  for  a  garage  visible  through  the  trees  at 
the  other  end  of  a  wide  lawn. 

"How's  Hal,  John?"  asked  King  of  the  older 
servant. 

"  He's  a  good  deal  wrought  up,  sir,"  replied  the 
man  simply,  without  undue  solemnity. 

"  Who's  the  fellow  that — that's  shot  ?  " 

"  Clarence  Salver,  sir,"  answered  the  servant 
promptly. 

"  Punk  Salver !  "  King's  exclamation  was  sharp. 
"  The  little  devil !  " 

Old  John  bowed.     "  He  was  that,  sir." 


30  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"What  brought  him  here,  John?" 

"  He  came  to  try  to  get  money,  sir,"  said  the  old 
man,  the  first  real  sign  of  trouble  showing  in  his 
well-controlled  visage. 

"And  he  attacked  Hal?" 

"  I — I  don't  know  that  I  can  detail  it  exact,  sir." 

King  paused  in  the  porch. . ,"  Wait,"  he  said. 
"  Tell  us  all  about  it,  John,  before  we  go  in.  Is 
Donna  here  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir.  She  came  quite  a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"  When  was  the  shooting — and  where  ?  " 

"  In  the  library — at  ten  o'clock,  sir." 

"Ten  o'clock!" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Master  Hal  wouldn't  let  any  one 
know  except  the  doctor  and  us  in  the  house,  sir,  till 
the  coroner  and  reporters  came." 

"Reporters?" 

"  Yes,  sir.    They've  been  and  gone." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  exclaimed  King,  and  my  sympa- 
thy went  out  to  him  as  a  vision  of  headlines  and 
family  portraits  flashed  before  my  mind's  eye.  But 
he  wasted  no  time  over  it. 

"  What  did  the  coroner  say  ?  " 

"  Self-defense — so  far,  sir." 

"And  Hal?" 

"  Is  here." 

"Donna  with  him?" 

"  Yes,  sir — and  the  doctor." 

"Is  he  ill?" 


Unknown  Ground  31 

"He's  pretty  well  used  up,  sir." 

"Did  he— collapse?" 

"  Not  exactly.    He — cried,  sir — like  a  child." 

"  Hysteria." 

"  I  suppose  so,  sir.  He's  bad  off  with  those 
nerves  of  his,  sir.  It's  a  terrible  pity  this  had  to 
happen." 

"  It  is  indeed.    Now  what  happened,  John?  " 

"  It  was  about  half-past  nine,  sir.  I  had  just 
come  in  from  sending  Miss  Donna  off  in  her  car 
to  town.  She  had  an  errand  to  do  and  was  in  a 
hurry,  so  she  went  alone.  She  had  not  been  gone 
more  than  three  minutes  I'm  sure,  sir,  when  that 
little — excuse  me,  sir — that  Clarence  Salver,  he 
came." 

The  old  man  had  cast  a  glance  or  two  at  me,  half 
curious.  Now,  he  paused  and  looked  at  me  and 
then  at  King.  King's  brows  went  up  in  some  sur- 
prise. 

"  Why,  you  know  Mr.  Randall,  don't  you, 
John?  "  he  said.  "  Randall's  one  of  Hal's  friends. 
Go  ahead." 

The  servant  seemed  satisfied.  "  Well,  sir,"  he 
continued.  "  Salver — you  know  he  was  a  good-for- 
nothing  little  loafer,  sir — God  forgive  me  for  say- 
ing it,  now  he's  dead."  He  stopped,  his  face  paling 
slowly.  "  My  God,  sir,"  he  whispered,  "  he's  dead ! 
And  Hal — Master  Hal  killed  him!  Does  it  seem 
possible  ?  " 

He  put  his  old  hand  rather  tremblingly  against 


32  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

the  brick  of  the  house  wall  and  wet  his  lips  with 
his  tongue.  Then  he  went  on. 

"  He  was  no  good — that  fellow,"  he  said. 

"  He  wasn't  called  Punk  for  nothing,  John,"  said 
King,  putting  his  own  hand  kindly  on  the  old  man's 
arm. 

"  He  was  not.  Punk  he  was — rotten  to  the  heart. 
Well,  Punk  Salver  came  to  the  front  door  here,  sir, 
at  about  9 130,  and  asked  me  to  let  him  see  Master 
Hal.  I  wouldn't  at  first,  for  I  was  pretty  sure  he 
wanted  money.  But  he  kept  insisting  that  he  had 
news  about  this  senatorial  fight,  sir — about  Judson 
Bain,  that  he  must  tell  to  Mr.  Philbric.  So  finally 
I  let  Master  Hal  know.  I  didn't  half  like  it,  for 
the  boy  hasn't  felt  any  too  well  lately.  But  Master 
Hal  insisted  on  seeing  him  as  soon  as  he  heard  that 
message." 

The  old  man  paused  again.  He  crossed  the  porch 
and  seated  himself  upon  the  rail,  taking  hold  of  the 
upright  pillar  as  if  to  steady  a  feeling  of  weakness. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  King — and  Mr.  Randall,  sir. 
I  can't  help  it.  I'm  near  to  sick  myself  with  this 
thing." 

"  Want  to  come  in,  John,  and  finish  in  there  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  sir.  I  better  tell  it  out  here. 
Master  Hal  let  him  come  into  the  library,  sir,  and 
either  he  or  Punk  Salver  shut  the  door.  That 
seemed  queer  to  me.  I — I  went  and  listened  at  the 
door  a  little  at  first,  sir,  to  hear  what  I  could — for 
fear  something  might  be  wrong.  But  I  heard  Mas- 


Unknown  Ground  33 

ter  Hal  laugh  and  took  it  to  be  all  right.  So  I 
went  about  my  work.  And  it  was  all  of  half  an  hour 
after — it  was  ten  o'clock,  sir,  when  all  at  once  we 
heard  somebody  call — wild  like — through  the  house, 
sir,  and  I  ran  in  from  the  side  lawn  where  I  was 
just  then  telling  the  gardener  about  Miss  Donna's 
roses.  I  was  as  far  from  the  library  as  I  could  get 
and  still  hear,  I  guess.  And  then  while  I  was  com- 
ing up  through  the  hall,  hearing  another  shout  and 
the  noise  of  scuffling  or  something,  I  suddenly  heard 
the  sound  of  a  shot." 

The  old  man  was  panting  with  excitement  now, 
and  stopped  to  recover  his  quiet. 

"  Take  your  time,  John,"  said  King. 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  spoke  and  I  saw  his  own 
strong  jaw  hard  set. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  servant.  "  I'm  foolish,  sir, 
but  I  can't  seem  to  help  it.  I  was  scared  for  Master 
Hal,  sir." 

"  Of  course  you  were." 

"And  I  hurried  so,  sir,  that  I  slipped  like  an  old 
fool  on  one  of  the  rugs  in  the  hall.  You  know 
how  easy  it  is  to  fall  when  one  of  those  rugs  goes 
out  from  under  you  on  a  waxed  floor,  sir?  And 
before  I  was  up  there  was  another  shot  and  a 
screech!  Lord,  sir,  it  makes  me  sick  to  remember 
it!  And  next  minute  when  I  reached  the  library 
door  I  found  it  open  and  saw  Master  Hal  coming 
towards  it  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand.  And  oh,  his 
eyes  just  blazed,  Mr.  King!  " 


34  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Yes,"  said  King.    "  And  then  ?  " 

"  And  then  I  saw  Punk  Salver  lying  on  the  floor 
all  crumpled  up,  sir.  He  was  right  on  the  rug 
before  the  fire.  His  knees  were  sort  of  doubled 
up  under  him  and  his  face  flat  on  the  hearth  and  his 
hands  were  stretched  out  and  one  of  them  turned 
up — I  shall  never  forget  it,  sir." 

"  What  did  Hal  say  ?  "  pursued  King. 

"  He  said,  '  John,  I've  shot  Punk  Salver.  He 
tried  to  kill  me.'  " 

"  Said  Punk  tried  to  kill  him?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  said  later  on  that  Punk  tried 
first  to  shoot  him  and  afterwards  to  brain  him  with 
that  bronze  smoking-tray,  sir — that  long  one  with 
the  heavy  figures  on  it  that  Master  Hal  used  on  the 
library  table,  sir." 

"  I  know,"  said  King. 

"It  was  on  the  floor  beside  Punk,  sir,  when  I 
went  in." 

King  looked  at  me.  "  It's  not  such  a  bad  case,  is 
it?"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "  It  wouldn't  seem 
so.  But  there  were  no  witnesses." 

"  I'll  take  Hal's  word  for  anything." 

"  Of  course.    So  would  I — but  will  a  jury?  " 

"  It  won't  come  to  a  jury." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  will — a  coroner's  jury." 

"  Did  Hal  send  for  the  coroner,  John  ?  "  asked 
King. 

"  No,  sir.    He  sent  me  for  Dr.  Graham,  sir,  and 


Unknown  Ground  35 

then  the  doctor  telephoned  for  the  coroner.  The 
reporters — they  came  with  the  coroner." 

"  I  see,"  said  King.  "  Did  Hal  talk  to  the  re- 
porters?" 

"  Yes,  sir — told  them  the  whole  thing." 

King  nodded.  "  Well  then,  what  did  Punk  want 
of  Hal?" 

"  I  don't  rightly  understand  that,  sir,"  said  old 
John.  "  It  was  something  about  some  letters — 
some  letters  he  stole  from  Judson  Bain's  office." 

"Stole!    Who  stole?" 

"  Punk  Salver,  sir." 

King  and  I  exchanged  glances  of  new  compre- 
hension. There  was  connection  indeed  between  the 
robbery  of  Bain's  office,  which  was  no  fiction,  and 
what  had  occurred  at  The  Hazels.  But  as  we 
paused  while  our  minds  followed  out  the  clue  there 
was  the  sound  of  another  step  on  the  porch  and  I 
looked  up  to  see  once  more  the  girl  I  had  first  seen 
that  morning  and  into  whose  life  I  had  taken  so 
strange  a  step. 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  FIGHT  FOR  ITS  OWN  SAKE 

SHE  came  towards  us,  a  slender,  sweet,  beautiful 
little  vision  of  perfection  in  all  that  makes  a 
girl  lovely  at  the  threshold  of  womanhood.  She 
was  somewhat  pale,  as  was  most  natural,  but  she 
was  self-possessed  and  calm.  She  was  certainly 
not  terrorized  by  what  had  occurred  as  many  girls 
would  have  been,  though  she  could  hardly  be  less 
than  deeply  affected. 

Hers  was  a  frank  welcome  to  us.  She  looked 
first  at  King. 

"  Oh,  Bob,"  she  said,  "  I'm  so  glad  you've  come !  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him.  Then  she  glanced 
at  me,  her  dark  eyes  coming  to  mine  with  a  sweet 
courage  and  faith  in  them  that  would  have  won 
my  allegiance  then  had  it  not  been  already  hers. 

"  I  brought  Mr.  Randall  out  with  me,"  said  King 
fortuitously.  "  They  had  a  fight  in  Bain's  office 
and  he  was  hurt.  It  seems  Bain's  office  was  robbed 
last  night,  Donna.  That  agrees  with  the  story  John 
has  just  been  telling  us." 

The  girl's  eyes  had  showed  a  little  surprise  at 
sight  of  me,  but  she  put  out  her  hand  immediately 
to  me  as  King  spoke. 

36 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  37 

"  You  were  hurt  ?  "  she  inquired  with  kindness 
and  perfect  self-command. 

"  Nothing  worth  mentioning,"  answered  I.  It 
was  not  so  easy  to  think  what  my  excuse  for  coming 
here  had  been  as  I  looked  in  her  face  and  realized 
the  distress  that  must  now  be  hers.  "  I  thought  it 
might  have  some  bearing  on  the  case,"  I  said. 
"  When  we  heard  what  had  happened  here  we 
thought  we'd  better  get  all  the  facts  together." 

King  nodded.  I  held  the  girl's  small  hand,  un- 
gloved now,  in  mine  for  an  instant.  In  that  instant 
the  desire  to  earn  the  right  to  regard  from  her — to 
serve  her  and  stand  by  her  and  protect  her  and  hers 
rose  overmasteringly  in  me.  Strange  emotion,  say 
you,  for  a  man  who  looks  for  the  second  time  only 
on  a  fair  face?  I  do  not  analyze  it. 

r'  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  "  as  you  were  this 
morning." 

She  smiled  a  little.  The  bruise  on  her  tender  lip 
was  only  faintly  visible  where  my  snowball  had 
struck  its  nasty  little  blow.  I  regarded  it  with 
strangely  mixed  feelings  now.  It  was  the  very  basis 
of  my  flimsy  right  to  be  here. 

"  John,"  said  the  girl  to  the  old  servant,  "  go  and 
have  Mrs.  Griggs  give  you  some  luncheon.  She 
tells  me  you  have  not  eaten  since  early  breakfast." 

'  Thank  you,  miss,"  he  said  and  turned  away 
from  us  willing  to  rest. 

The  girl  led  us  into  the  wide  hall  of  the  great 
house.  "  Hal  is  in  the  library,"  she  said.  "  We  can 


38  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

see  him  presently.  The  sooner  we  talk  this  all  over 
the  better  for  him  I  am  sure.  There's  one  very 
strange  feature  of  it  that  will  need  all  our  minds 
I  think." 

"What?  "asked  King. 

"  Hal  will  tell  you,"  she  answered.  "  I'd  rather 
you  heard  the  whole  story  from  him.  I  may  not 
tell  it  right." 

King  was  preceding  us  down  the  hall  with  the 
ease  of  familiarity  and  with  eagerness  to  learn  the 
rest.  The  girl  paused  to  close  the  great  front  door 
and  I  waited.  As  King  went  in  at  a  door  on 
the  right  I  turned  to  her  sharply. 

"  Miss  Philbric,"  I  said  on  the  impulse  to  be 
wholly  frank  with  her,  "  please  forgive  this  intru- 
sion. When  I  heard,  I  could  not  stay  away.  I  am 
an  utter  stranger  without  a  right  to  a  place  among 
your  aids,  but  please  do  not  refuse  me  that  place. 
It's  been  a  mere  chance  that  my  way  has  crossed 
yours  at  the  time  of  your  trouble,  but  it  would  be  a 
pity  if  I  should  merely  pass  on  without  being  of 
use.  I  have  already  a  reason  for  enmity  against 
your  enemy  and  your  brother's.  Let  me  be  your 
ally — in  any  humble  capacity." 

She  looked  at  me  earnestly,  a  strangely  long  look 
that  could  hardly  be  called  scrutiny  but  that  was 
an  examining  gaze,  too.  She  did  not  smile.  Her 
face  had  a  pitifully  pained  look  upon  it.  But  I  had 
no  cause  for  disappointment  at  the  expression  in 
her  eyes. 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  39 

"  You  are  a  brave  and  kind  and  generous  gentle- 
man," she  said.  "  You've  been  involved  in  trouble 
already  for  us — more  serious  than  you  have  told 
me.  I  had  no  idea  I  was  sending  you  to  that.  But 
I  would  be  unkind,  indeed,  abruptly  to  refuse  such 
an  offer  as  yours,  though  why  should  you  take  up 
cudgels  for  us  ?  " 

"  Because  I  want  to  make  amends  for  my  offense 
this  morning.  Because  having  met  your  enemy  I 
have  my  own  grudge  to  nurse.  Because  I  have  al- 
ready learned  things  that  may  be  of  use  to  you. 
And  because  I  love  the  fight  for  its  own  sake  with 
such  companions  in  the  fray." 

She  still  looked  into  my  eyes.  "  I  like  your  hon- 
est reasons,"  she  said.  "  Come  and  meet  my 
brother.  He  will  be  glad  to  know  you." 

"  I  came  with  Mr.  King  in  a  manner  under  false 
pretenses,"  I  said.  "  He  thinks  I  am  an  old  friend 
of  the  family  because  I  let  him  persevere  in  that 
error.  With  that  clear  to  you  I  am  ready  to  take 
whatever  place  you  give  me." 

She  smiled.  Something  in  word  or  tone  ap- 
pealed to  her  and  there  was  more  of  frank  freedom 
in  her  look.  "  Your  name  is  Randall,  Bob 
said?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  I  am  the  Daniel  Randall  who  is 
the  sole  surviving  relative  of  John  Randall,  who 
lived  in  your  city  here  and  whom  you  must  have 
known." 

I  stopped.     Her  eyes  had  widened  again  with 


40  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

sudden  surprise.  "  You  are — Dan  Randall  ?  "  she 
asked. 

They  were  almost  identically  the  words  King  had 
used.  I  wondered,  but  I  confessed  to  the  impeach- 
ment while  I  thrilled  at  the  sound  of  my  name  upon 
her  lips. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  you  are  welcome." 

I  suppose  I  looked  my  surprise. 

"Don't  you  know  why?"  she  asked  quickly. 
Then  suddenly  she  laughed — a  little  short  invol- 
untary laugh,  despite  the  gloom  that  overhung 
her  home,  and  in  it  I  saw  or  heard  something 
that  sent  again  the  thrill  of  satisfaction  through 
me. 

"  You  knew  my  uncle,"  I  hazarded. 

"  I  never  saw  him,"  she  said. 

That  was  the  limit  of  my  guesses.  My  life  had 
never  touched  hers — of  that  I  was  sure — till  this 
accidental  meeting  of  the  morning. 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you  why  now,"  she  said.  "  But 
I  am  glad  you  have  come.  It  is  all  right  that  Bob 
should  think  us  old  friends.  Indeed,  he  knows  it 
now.  We  are." 

It  was  too  welcome  a  thing  to  balk  at  because  it 
was  not  clear.  I  took  what  she  offered. 

"  I  can  play  the  part  till  I  learn  the  secret,"  I 
ventured.  "  I  may  as  well  confess  I  don't  know 
it  now." 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  she  said.  "  I  should  find 
you  out  immediately  if  you  pretended.  But " 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  41 

she  hesitated  an  instant,  then  flashed  a  look  of  curi- 
ous interest  at  me.  "  Isn't  it  strange  ?  " 

"  It  is  indeed,"  I  answered. 

She  sobered  almost  instantly  as  thought  of  the 
immediate  present  came  back.  But  she  did  not  show 
sign  of  lack  of  courage  as  we  walked  down  the 
hall  together. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  there  is  plenty  of  need  for 
all  the  heads  we  can  have  on  one  mysterious  feature 
of  this  thing.  If  you  can  help  us  to  solve  that,  Mr. 
Randall,  you  will  help  indeed." 

I  followed  her.  We  turned  into  a  bright  beautiful 
room — the  same  to  which  King  had  appeared  to 
precede  us.  It  was  a  long  library  room  on  the  west 
side  of  the  house  and  the  afternoon  sun  was  gilding 
everything  through  the  wide  windows  at  the  end. 
In  the  center  was  a  huge  table  of  heavy  mahogany 
loaded  with  books  and  magazines.  At  the  left  was 
a  fire  on  a  capacious  hearth  glowing  cheerfully  de- 
spite the  mildness  of  the  day.  Great  easy  leather 
chairs  were  placed  here  and  there  about  in  luxuri- 
ous abundance  of  comfort.  Handsome  rugs  were 
on  the  floor,  vases,  statuettes,  a  hundred  and  one 
attractive  nicknacks  were  on  tables  and  shelves.  In 
the  further  corner  at  the  right  one  of  the  windows 
came  to  the  floor  and  evidently  led  to  the  porch. 
It  was  open. 

Before  the  fire  in  a  chair  that  faced  it  sat  an 
exceedingly  handsome  and  very  delicate-looking 
young  man.  As  I  looked  at  him  I  fairly  started  with 


42  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

amazement  at  the  extraordinary  likeness  to  the  girl 
at  my  side.  No  introduction  would  have  been  neces- 
sary to  proclaim  the  relationship  between  the  two. 
The  resemblance  was  fairly  startling.  It  was  one 
of  those  remarkable  family  likenesses  in  which 
one  face  seems  practically  the  counterpart  of  the 
other,  often  seen  in  twins,  not  infrequently  between 
two  brothers  or  two  sisters  of  different  ages.  More 
rarely  is  it  found  between  brother  and  sister  a  year 
or  two  apart.  But  I  have  never  seen  a  resemblance 
so  complete,  for,  as  the  boy  sat  half  buried  in  the 
depths  of  his  chair,  his  masculine  dress  less  pro- 
nouncedly in  evidence  than  if  he  had  been  erect,  it 
was  instantly  the  one  thing  that  impressed  me. 

But  the  girl  did  not  note  my  start  and  my  sudden 
comparison  of  the  two  faces.  She  went  forward 
quickly  to  her  brother. 

"  Hal,"  she  asked,  "  where's  Bob?" 

The  boy  looked  up.  There  was  a  sharp  start  in 
his  movement  and  a  crease  of  pain  between  his  eyes 
for  an  instant  that  told  plainly  enough  at  a  glance 
of  the  raw  nerves  I  had  been  hearing  about. 

"  Bob?  Oh  yes,"  he  returned,  after  a  glance  at 
us.  "  He's  gone  into  the  porch  with  the  doctor  to 
make  him  tell  how  bad  off  I  am." 

He  shivered  slightly  as  he  spoke.  Then  his  hand 
went  out  half  fumblingly  to  the  table  and  com- 
menced turning  over  and  over,  rapidly,  the  ivory 
paper-cutter  that  lay  there.  He  glanced  again  at  me 
uneasily. 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  43 

"  This  is  some  one  whom  we  had  not  expected  to 
meet  to-day,  Hal,"  said  the  girl,  alluding  in  puzzling 
phrase  to  me.  "  This  gentleman  is  Mr.  Dan  Ran- 
dall." 

She  stopped  short.  She  was  smiling  a  little  and 
waiting  for  some  effect  she  expected  my  name  to 
create.  The  boy  sat  up.  Then  slowly  he  rose  from 
his  chair,  his  eyes  fastened  on  my  face. 

"Dan  Randall?"  he  said.  He  came  forward 
putting  out  his  hand,  his  face  relaxing  into  a  smile 
almost  as  sweet  as  the  girl's.  "  You  are  Dan  Ran- 
dall?" he  asked. 

I  took  his  hand.  Poor  chap,  it  was  like  a  girl's  in 
its  slenderness.  But  the  grasp  of  it  was  firm  and 
hearty. 

"  I  am  Dan  Randall,"  I  answered  him,  more  puz- 
zled than  before  but  with  a  leap  of  the  heart  less 
hard  to  understand  as  I  began  to  comprehend  that 
some  strange  unknown  thing  had  preceded  me  here 
to  give  me  a  footing  in  this  house. 

The  boy  suddenly  turned  to  her  and  laughed  in 
such  contrast  to  his  distraught  manner  when  I  first 
saw  him  that  I  could  hardly  credit  it.  "  Dan  Ran- 
dall !  "  he  repeated.  Then  quickly  he  gave  my  hand 
a  renewed  pressure.  "  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Randall," 
he  said,  "  but  I  suppose  you  may  know — you  do 
know,  don't  you  ?  " 

He  paused.  His  sister  came  and  stood  beside  him. 
Her  eyes  were  serious,  but  they  regarded  me  with 
queer  question  in  them. 


44  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  He  doesn't  know,  Hal,"  she  said. 

"  Won't  you  solve  the  mystery  for  me?  "  I  asked. 
"  I'm  glad  of  anything  that  gives  me  a  right  to  be 
here  at  this  moment,  but  I'd  be  glad  to  know  what 
it  is." 

The  boy  turned  to  his  sister.  His  laugh  had 
sobered.  He  smiled  still,  but  his  eyes  questioned 
her.  "  Sis  ?  "  he  queried. 

And  then  I  saw  a  strange  thing.  Slowly  the  color 
rose  in  the  beautiful  face  of  the  girl.  It  climbed  and 
spread,  a  lovely  flush  upon  her  fair  skin,  and  from 
chin  to  brow  her  whole  countenance  became  suf- 
fused. It  was  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  have  ever 
looked  upon,  yet  my  heart  went  out  to  her  in  pity 
for  the  embarrassment  that  was  evident.  Still  she 
looked  at  me  bravely. 

"  It  must  remain  a  mystery,"  she  said  with  an 
effort  at  lightness. 

"  It  shall,"  said  Philbric  suddenly.  He  saw  the 
distress  signal  in  her  face  and  responded.  "  Ran- 
dall," he  said,  "  you  come  oddly  introduced  to  us. 
Perhaps  we'll  tell  you  sometime.  But  you  come  at  a 
— a  most  troublous  moment." 

"  Then  let  me  stay  and  help.  I've  learned  by 
sheer  accident  about  it  all.  Old  friends  have  rights, 
you  know." 

"It's  a  poor  right  to  claim  just  now,"  said  the 
young  man,  returning  to  his  chair  and  motioning 
me  to  another.  "  But  Heaven  knows  I  seem  to  be 
in  need  of  my  friends  at  this  moment." 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  45 

His  face  lost  all  of  its  lighter  expression.  I  saw 
the  white  line  spread  along  the  edge  of  his  lips  and 
the  blue  pallor  under  his  eyes.  His  hand  trembled, 
too,  as  he  stretched  it  again  to  the  table  and  began 
once  more  to  turn  the  paper-cutter. 

"  Mr.  Randall  knows  all  about  what  has  hap- 
pened, Hal,"  said  the  girl  standing  beside  him,  "  ex- 
cept what  Clarence  Salver  came  here  for." 

The  boy's  eyes  turned  to  me,  but  as  he  was  about 
to  speak  King  and  another  man,  a  short,  stout,  gray 
old  fellow,  evidently  the  doctor,  came  in  from  the 
porch.  Philbric  stopped  as  he  heard  their  steps  and 
turned.  King  started  to  close  the  window. 

"  There  is  still  a  chill  in  the  air  if  you  don't  move 
about,"  he  said  lightly. 

He  fumbled  with  the  catch  on  the  window  and 
seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  with  it. 

"  This  is  a  new  sort  of  fastener,  isn't  it,  Hal  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  never  noticed  it  before." 

Philbric  coughed  sharply  and  I  saw  him  shiver 
again.  "  If  Punk  Salver  had  known  how  to  work 
it  this  morning  he  never  would  have  been — hurt," 
he  said  with  a  painful  hesitation  before  his  final 
word. 

"  Did  he  try  to  get  out,  Hal?  "  asked  King. 

"  He  certainly  did.  I'm  confoundedly  certain 
about  some  of  the  details  of  this  thing,"  answered 
the  boy,  "  and  uncertain  about  others,"  he  added. 
He  rested  his  head  on  one  hand,  but  the  other  con- 
tinued the  rapid  turning  of  the  paper-knife. 


46  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Better  tell  us  all  about  it  now,  hadn't  you,  old 
man?  "  said  King,  coming  and  sitting  near  Philbric 
and  giving  the  fire  a  poke. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy,  "  of  course.    Sit  down,  sis." 

His  sister  passed  him  and  came  toward  me.  As 
she  did  so  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  busy  fussing 
fingers  on  the  table  and  stilled  them.  He  drew  his 
hand  away  sharply,  then  looked  up  at  her  and  smiled 
pitifully;  and  I  looked  at  the  fire  that  neither  of 
them  might  know  I  had  seen  the  incident. 

"  Punk  brought  me  some  letters,  Bob,"  said  Phil- 
bric. "  He  stole  them  last  night  from  Judson 
Bain's  office."  He  turned  to  me.  "  King  tells  me 
you  found  trouble  at  Bain's  office  this  morning," 
he  added. 

11  This  afternoon,"  I  corrected,  smiling  at  him 
with  intent  to  hearten  him.  I  saw  a  faint  gleam  of 
response  in  his  eyes.  "  They  were  robbed  all  right." 

The  boy's  fist  clenched  and  he  uttered  a  sharp 
exclamation  to  my  complete  amaze. 

"  My  God,  Doctor !  Doesn't  that  prove  my 
story?" 

I  looked  at  the  physician  for  an  explanation.  He 
was  standing  behind  King.  He  nodded  slightly, 
then  looked  across  at  me.  But  Hal  went  on  at  once. 

"  I'll  give  you  the  whole  of  it  as  it  happened 
though,"  he  said.  "  Punk  came  and  brought  those 
letters.  Now,  Randall,  you  may  not  understand,  but 
Bain  is  a  candidate  for  the  Senate  from  this  dis- 
trict. He  is  a  crook.  Martin  Fenelon,  a  man  who 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  47 

is  clean  and  upright  and  decent  and  who  was  a 
dear  friend  of  my  father  up  to  the  very  day  of 
father's  death,  is  also  a  candidate.  Bain  has  been 
doing  crooked  things  ever  since  the  campaign  began 
and  I've  been  writing  to  the  papers  attacking  him 
because  I  know  a  lot  about  his  record  that  he  doesn't 
like  to  have  aired." 

He  paused  and  his  hand  went  out  restlessly  for 
the  paper-cutter  again.  Donna  glanced  at  him  with 
distress  clouding  her  sweet  brows,  and  he  saw  and 
arrested  the  movement.  Then  he  continued: 

"  Punk  sent  a  fellow  to  see  me  last  night  who 
told  me  that  Bain  was  planning  a  dirty  deal  against 
Fenelon  and  asked  if  I  wanted  to  learn  about  it  be- 
fore he  could  spring  it.  I  told  the  chap  to  tell  Salver 
yes,  of  course.  The  fellow, — he  was  that  little 
hunchback,  Garth,  that  hangs  around  the  hotel  sta- 
bles in  town,  Bob, — the  hunchback  promised  that 
Salver  would  come  out  here — I  haven't  been  well 
enough  to  get  into  town — would  come  out  here,  last 
night.  Salver  didn't  come  and  I  got  worried.  I 
believed  Punk  had  learned  something  and  I  didn't 
dare  to  wait.  I  tried  to  get  hold  of  Fenelon,  but  he 
was  out  of  town.  So  this  morning  I  wrote  a  note 
of  warning — just  a  bluff — to  frighten  Bain  if  I 
could,  till  I  could  get  hold  of  Salver's  story.  Donna 
took  the  note  to  town,  Mr.  Randall,  and  King  was 
going  to  meet  her  and  take  it  to  Bain.  King  tells 
me  you  chanced  to  become  the  messenger!"  He 
turned  his  fine  eyes,  so  much  like  his  sister's,  again 


48  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

upon  me,  and  I  nodded.  The  girl  looked  at  me  also, 
but  she  was  a  little  paler  than  she  had  been  and  she 
did  not  smile. 

"  Well,"  said  Philbric,  "  after  Donna  had  gone— 
in  fact  she  was  scarcely  out  of  sight  of  the  house 
— Punk  Salver  turned  up  here.  And  he  brought 
with  him  a  small  bunch  of  correspondence."  He 
looked  up  at  the  physician.  "  Doctor  Graham,"  he 
said,  "  could  I  dream  one  part  of  a  tale  like  this  and 
have  the  other  part  so  painfully  real?  " 

The  doctor's  brows  drew  together  slightly,  but  he 
answered  promptly :  "  Don't  take  my  chance  ques- 
tions so  seriously,  Hal." 

"  Well,"  went  on  the  boy,  "  he  did  bring  those 
letters — mysterious  as  it  is — and  he  showed  them  to 
me;  and  of  all  the  accursed  plots  to  injure  a  good 
man  of  which  you  ever  heard,  they  revealed  the 
worst.  They  were  absolutely  incriminating  evidence 
against  Judson  Bain  and  Wheeler  Scancey,  too,  of 
conspiracy — to  ruin  the  reputation  of  Martin  Fene- 
lon  by  connecting  him  through  a  cleverly  constructed 
chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  with  a — a  scandal 
— with  the  kind  of  scandal  that  sticks  like  pitch  even 
when  a  man  can  eventually  prove  his  innocence." 

King  made  an  inarticulate  exclamation  but  shook 
his  head  when  Hal  turned  toward  him  inquiringly. 

"  Of  course  Punk  wanted  to  sell  the  letters  to  me. 
He  frankly  acknowledged  stealing  them — out  of  the 
safe  in  Bain's  office.  He  was  a  clever  little  piece 
of  villainy,  was  Salver,  King." 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  49 

"  I  know  he  was,"  answered  the  other. 

"  He  worked  for  a  safe-maker  once,  and  he 
learned  enough  about  locks  to — to  ruin  him,"  said 
Philbric  soberly.  "  But  I  got  mad  at  the  manner 
of  the  little  blackmailer.  He  went  to  school  here 
in  the  village  when  I  did  and  had  known  me  all  of 
my  life,  but  he  talked  to  me  about  the  theft  and 
about  my  buying  the  letters  in  a  way  to  turn  the 
stomach  of  any  man.  And  I  talked  sharp  to  him. 
But  I  did  not  dream  that  he  would  or  could  resent 
my  epithets — though  they  were  harsh — as  he  did. 
He  got  mad,  too,  and  grew  abusive;  and  we  went 
from  word  to  word  into  a  regular  quarrel.  I  acted 
like  a  fool,  I  know,  because  my  confounded  nerves 
are  all  out  of  control.  But  it  came  to  a  point  finally 
where  he  suddenly  said  he  would  not  let  me  have 
the  letters  for  love  or  money  but  would  go  back 
and  sell  them  to  Judson  Bain,  and  he  meant  it." 

Philbric  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  before  the 
hearth  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  He  was 
evidently  striving  for  mastery  of  himself  and  any 
one  with  an  eye  to  observe  could  have  seen  what 
was  his  malady.  He  was  a  victim  of  neurasthenia, 
or  close  to  it — that  dread  affliction  that  is  like  the 
quicksand  in  its  treacherous  engulfing  grip,  against 
which  most  struggling  is  worse  than  vain.  His  im- 
pulse to  movement  as  he  stood  there  in  the  midst 
of  his  battle  for  self-control  was  evidenced  in  a 
quick  intermittent  rising  upon  his  toes,  with  the 
strain  of  his  tense  nerves  showing  in  every  line  of 


50  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

his  face  and  body.  But  he  went  on  with  his  tale 
almost  without  pause. 

"  I  was  furious  then,"  he  said,  "  and  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  he  should  not  get  out  of  this  house 
with  such  evidence  as  that.  He  had  kept  possession 
of  the  letters,  you  understand — his  hands  upon  them 
every  moment. 

"  Well,  I  told  him  that  if  he  didn't  give  me  the 
letters  I'd  take  them  away  from  him;  and  then 
things  happened  so  fast  I  can  hardly  be  sure  of  the 
sequence.  He  tried  to  get  out  of  that  window  and 
couldn't  master  the  latch.  He  could  have  broken 
a  pane,  but  the  panes  are  small  and  he  evidently  saw 
he  couldn't  escape  through  the  space  of  one.  The 
other  windows  were  impossible  because  of  the  book- 
cases. But  while  he  was  fumbling  I  ran  to  the  hall 
door  and  yelled  for  John — for  help.  I  called  half 
a  dozen  times,  I  suppose,  but  nobody  seemed  to  be 
in  hearing.  Then  I  ran  back  and  found  Punk  at 
the  library  table  drawer. 

"  I  had  a  revolver  in  there  but  I  had  not  thought 
of  it.  How  he  knew  it  is  past  my  rinding  out.  But 
he  drew  out  the  gun  and  when  I  rushed  at  him  he 
fired  at  me.  He  missed  me  and  I  grabbed  the  pistol. 
Even  as  weak  as  I  am  now  I  was  too  strong  for 
him,  for  he  was  a  worn-out  little  bum  and  loafer, 
you  know.  So  I  got  the  revolver.  In  the  next  sec- 
ond, though,  he  seized  that  bronze  ash-tray  there 
and  swung  it  as  a  club  and  rushed  at  me.  And  he 
would  have  smashed  my  head  if  I  hadn't  shot  in 


A  Fight  for  Its  Own  Sake  51 

self-defense.  It  was  self-defense,  Bob.  I  swear 
I  kept  my  wits,  for  I  was  cooler  than  earlier.  But 
I  hit  the  fellow  in  a  vital  spot.  Good  God !  I  didn't 
mean  to  do  that ! " 

He  suddenly  stopped  and  the  very  tears  welled 
up  out  of  his  eyes.  Then  he  turned  to  the  physician 
again.  "  Doctor,  it's  exactly  as  I  told  you.  He  fell 
right  there  on  the  rug — only  they've  taken  away  the 
one  he  fell  on  now — and  he  hadn't  gotten  out  of 
my  reach  a  single  instant." 

"  Well,"  said  King,  "  what  about  it  ?  He  got  shot 
and  deserved  it.  You  fired  in  self-defense.  Your 
word  will  hardly  be  questioned." 

I  glanced  at  the  physician.  Something  in  his  face 
warned  me  that  the  tale  was  not  yet  all  told. 

The  boy  started  forward  at  King's  words.  "  No, 
by  Heaven !  "  he  cried.  "  How  can  they  ?  It  was 
self-defense ! " 

"  Well,  don't  excite  yourself,  Hal,"  said  King. 

I  looked  quickly  at  the  girl,  Donna.  She  was 
sitting  half  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  She  was  lean- 
ing forward  breathless,  gazing  miserably  at  her 
brother.  Her  hands  were  so  tightly  gripped  on  the 
oak  table-top  that  they  had  turned  white  across  the 
backs. 

"  Don't  you  believe  me,  Doctor?"  cried  the  boy, 
suddenly  whirling  again  to  Graham. 

"  I  believe  you  tell  the  absolute  truth,"  said  the 
physician,  but  in  his  tone  was  a  qualification. 

I  forgot  in  my  interest  and  concern  that  my  right 


52  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

to  interfere  was  questionable.  Involuntarily  I 
started  up,  looking  at  the  doctor's  face. 

"  Man,"  I  said,  "  what's  the  matter?  The  boy's 
story  is  straight  and  the  circumstantial  evidence  is 
abundant.  This  robbery  occurred.  Salver  came 
here  with  these  letters.  The  bronze  tray  was  on 
the  floor.  Philbric's  gun  undoubtedly  had  two 
empty  chambers.  There's  a  bullet-hole  here  some- 
where in  the  wall  or  floor  of  course,  and — why,  the 
letters  themselves  are  enough  proof  to  support  the 
word  of  a  man  like  Philbric." 

The  doctor  looked  at  me  with  a  curl  of  scorn  on 
his  lips  and  I  disliked  the  man  from  that  moment 
— perhaps  perfectly  naturally.  But  his  answer  took 
the  heart  out  of  me  so  suddenly  that  it  was  like  a 
blow  in  the  face. 

"  There  were  three  empty  chambers  in  Philbric's 
pistol,  sir,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  discoverable 
bullet  mark  in  walls,  floor  or  ceiling  of  this  room — 
and  the  letters — the  letters,  sir,  that  Philbric  thinks 
— that  Philbric  saw,  have  not  been  discovered.  A 
search  has  been  made,  from  the  pockets  of  the  man 
who  brought  them,  to  every  inch  of  this  room,  which 
he  did  not  leave  alive  after  showing  them.  It  has 
not  revealed  a  shred  of  them.  We  searched  Clar- 
ence Salver's  clothing  to  the  last  rag,  and  we  went 
over  this  room  with  the  minutest  care.  The  letters, 
sir,  which  Hal  says  he  saw — cannot  be  found." 


CHAPTER  V 
A  DAYLIGHT  MYSTERY 

T  REMEMBER  how  the  sunlight  lay  on  the  top 
*  of  the  mahogany  table  against  which  Donna 
Philbric  was  leaning  and  how  the  reflection  caught 
me  in  the  eyes  as  I  turned  to  look  at  her  after  the 
doctor's  startling  statement.  It  dazzled  me  and  the 
effect  seemed  for  the  moment  like  the  effect  of  the 
statement  itself.  Then  I  saw  how  the  girl's  eyes 
fastened  themselves  on  the  physician's  face  with 
such  a  question  in  them  that  I  grasped  the  deeper 
significance  of  what  he  had  told — the  opinion  he  was 
already  inclining  to — that  lay  back  of  the  immediate 
mystery.  And  I  thought  I  should  never  forgive 
the  man  for  the  suggestion  he  allowed  to  enter  her 
mind  and  Hal's. 

We  sat  and  stood  almost  in  a  circle,  the  five  of 
us.  The  aunt  whom  King  had  mentioned  had  not 
appeared.  Donna,  now  at  my  right  against  the  ta- 
ble, Hal  in  the  big  chair  next  to  her,  then  the  doctor 
standing  and  then  King  in  one  of  the  old-style 
high-backed  chairs  that  came  away  up  above  his 
head.  The  fire  was  snapping  on  the  hearth  and 
sending  little  curling  wisps  of  smoke  up  the  chim- 
ney. Reflections  from  it,  too,  glowed  redly  in  pol- 

53 


54  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

ished  surfaces  of  chairs,  andirons,  vases,  tiles.  The 
gold  of  the  sunlight  mingled  with  the  deeper  colors 
of  the  firelight  with  wonderfully  bright  and  cheer- 
ful effect.  And  there  we  faced  together  the  threat 
of  the  most  remarkable  situation  I  have  ever  known. 

My  mind  went  rapidly  over  the  story  again  the 
moment  it  was  concluded  and  the  facts  stood  out 
so  clearly  that  I  could  find  no  flaw  to  alter  the  case 
as  it  first  loomed  up  in  strange  menace.  Hal  had 
shot  Salver.  That  he  admitted,  and  the  evidence 
allowed  no  doubt  of  it.  I  did  not  doubt  either  that 
every  word  of  the  boy's  own  story  was  true.  But 
the  attitude  that  a  jury  might  take  toward  this 
thing  was  a  matter  to  consider  most  assuredly,  and 
the  doctor's  addition  to  the  boy's  tale  seemed  to 
have  swept  every  vestige  of  supporting  evidence 
away  from  Philbric's  story. 

One's  first  instinct,  when  facts  seem  stubbornly  un- 
bendable  to  support  belief,  is  toward  angry  rebellion. 
Of  course  I  questioned  the  doctor's  facts.  How 
was  it  possible  that  the  letters  could  have  disap- 
peared utterly  if  this  Salver  had  never  left  the  room 
after  showing  them  to  Hal?  He  certainly  would 
not  destroy  them  by  throwing  them  into  the  grate. 
And  if  he  had  not  destroyed  them  only  one  thing 
was  possible.  They  were  still  in  that  room,  no  mat- 
ter how  carefully  the  search  had  been  made.  Also 
if  a  revolver  had  been  fired  twice — possibly  three 
times — in  a  room  the  bullets  must  have  made  marks 
somewhere.  One  had  struck  Salver.  The  other  or 


A  Daylight  Mystery  55 

others  had  struck  something  else.  And  yet  the  idea 
that  anything  like  a  careful  search  for  evidence  had 
been  made  and  had  resulted  in  finding  nothing  to 
bear  out  the  tale  the  boy  told — nothing  but  the  fact 
of  Salver's  death — was,  to  say  the  least,  startling. 

It  was  the  unmistakable  meaning  in  the  doctor's 
queer  looks,  however,  that  roused  my  ire.  He  could 
not  have  presented  his  theory  more  clearly  in  words 
than  he  did  in  his  implication.  He  had  begun  at 
the  very  beginning  by  casting  doubt  upon  Hal's  cer- 
tainty of  memory  and  he  had  ended  now  with  a 
thing  that  he  might  as  well  have  spoken  out — a  sug- 
gestion that  the  tale  the  boy  told  was  a  mixture  of 
fact  and  of  hallucination. 

Of  course  Philbric's  condition  gave  color  to  this 
idea  and  perhaps  the  scientific  mind  would  naturally 
lean  toward  such  an  explanation.  It  was  conceiva- 
ble that  a  man  in  a  condition  of  serious  nervous 
disorder  might  be  deceived  in  details  in  such  a  case. 
But  to  my  mind  such  an  hypothesis  to  cover  principal 
facts  in  a  case  as  vital  as  this  was  more  than  absurd. 
No  man  could  "  dream,"  as  Hal  had  expressed  it, 
that  he  saw  such  letters  as  Hal  described  and  dream 
it  to  such  convincing  effect  as  to  precipitate  a  fatal 
fight.  Naturally,  if  one  were  to  presuppose  insanity 
on  Philbric's  part,  he  might  accept  anything  in  the 
way  of  erratic  thought  or  action.  But  Philbric  was 
not  insane,  certainly,  and  the  known  facts  supported 
enough  of  his  story  to  give  all  the  weight  of  proba- 
bility to  the  rest  of  it.  Still — and  my  own  mind 


56  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

hesitated  here  also — a  jury  in  court  would  have  to 
have  something  more  tangible  than  probability. 

I  would  not  tolerate  the  physician's  theory  for 
a  moment.  He  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  sort  of  man 
whom  scientific  knowledge  had  spoiled.  He  could 
not  allow  any  one  else — especially  any  lay  person — 
to  have  an  opinion  on  facts  upon  which  his  lore 
might  find  a  bearing.  That  was  why  my  first  atti- 
tude toward  the  whole  case  was  one  of  impatience 
and  disgust.  I  could  scarcely  wait  decently  for  an 
opportunity  to  propose  a  new  search  for  facts.  I 
am  of  the  sort  who  have  to  be  shown — a  not  always 
admirable  quality,  I  must  confess — but  I  like  to  see 
things  with  my  own  eyes  and  feel  them  with  my  own 
hands  before  yielding  absolute  credence. 

But  I  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  Hal  himself  gave 
us  the  chance.  We  had  talked  a  half  hour,  I  sup- 
pose, since  I  had  come  in.  The  morning's  events 
had  been  a  strain  on  the  boy  greater  than  a  well 
man  can  understand,  I  have  no  doubt.  I  could  see 
enough  of  the  effects  myself  to  know  that  there  was 
danger  of  injury  being  done  him  which  would  not 
be  readily  repaired.  But  I  could  not  anticipate  the 
effect  that  would  show  itself  there  and  then  in  such 
a  way  as  to  add  most  seriously  to  our  problem. 

We  were  discussing  the  story  he  had  told,  holding 
it  up  in  the  light  of  each  one's  intelligence,  in  turn, 
as  it  were.  There  was  plenty  to  say.  There  were 
questions  to  be  asked  and  reasked,  points  to  be  gone 
over,  theories  to  be  advanced  and  answered,  and  ten- 


A  Daylight  Mystery  57 

tative  suggestions  for  immediate  action  put  forward. 
I  will  not  repeat  them  here.  They  simmered  down 
to  the  same  thing  and  they  changed  not  the  main 
facts.  And  it  was  in  the  very  midst  of  it  all  that 
Hal  suddenly  broke  down.  I  did  not  see  it  coming. 
Donna  told  me  afterwards  that  she  feared  it.  I  was 
quite  unprepared  and  correspondingly  shocked  by 
the  thing  when  the  young  man — for  man  he  was 
despite  his  youth  and  his  illness — gave  way  to  the 
strain. 

It  was  simply  a  burst  of  tears.  That  doesn't 
sound  like  much  to  concern  one's  self  over  in  view 
of  all  that  is  known  and  understood  of  hysteria. 
But  it  is  not  pleasant  to  see  another  human  being's 
self-control  broken  and  Philbric  was  of  a  type  in 
which  it  seemed  to  me  peculiarly  painful.  When  the 
break  came,  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  our  conversa- 
tion, it  seemed  to  me  for  the  moment  the  most  un- 
real thing  that  had  occurred.  To  see  the  keen-eyed, 
intellectual,  apparently  clear-headed  fellow — who  de- 
spite his  nervous  symptoms  had  told  us  an  extraor- 
dinarily straight  narrative  of  what  had  occurred — 
to  see  him  suddenly  bending  his  head  into  his  hands 
and  sobbing,  like  a  child  that  is  hurt  or  like  an  emo- 
tional girl,  was  a  shock  indeed. 

It  was  very  quick  and  the  response  from  the  sister 
and  from  the  doctor,  who,  to  my  thinking,  had  had 
no  small  part  in  bringing  it  on,  was  instant.  I 
turned  away.  I  could  offer  no  help.  King,  I  re- 
member, went  to  the  girl's  assistance.  I  felt  the  first 


58  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

return  at  that  moment  of  my  lost  sense  of  strange- 
ness in  the  house,  which  had  dropped  from  me 
quickly  indeed.  The  only  thing  I  could  do  was  to 
stand  aside  and  let  the  intimate  friends  of  the  boy 
care  for  him. 

The  fit  of  crying  seemed  uncontrollable  for  a 
time  and  it  eventually  ended  our  joint  discussion 
of  the  case.  The  boy  himself  begged  to  be  taken 
away  to  the  privacy  of  his  own  room  and  the  doctor 
approved  of  this.  But  Philbric  was  quite  capable 
of  going  unaided,  though  he  could  not  stop  the  con- 
vulsive weeping  that  held  him  in  its  grip.  And  so 
they  went  out  quickly  together,  the  boy  and  his 
physician  and  the  sister  whose  face  wore  a  look  of 
distress  and  dismay  that  weighed  upon  my  spirit 
heavily. 

I  liked  King  the  better  for  the  self-contained  man- 
liness of  his  attitude  in  this  unhappy  incident.  He 
was  not  too  solicitous — simply  kind  and  strong.  I 
began  to  think  that  he  was  a  fellow  after  my  own 
heart,  the  quick  liking  for  him  springing  as  readily 
as  my  swift  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  brother 
and  sister.  If  there  was  then  underneath  the  sur- 
face any  sting  in  the  fact  that  he  very  evidently 
stood  in  the  enviable  position  of  close  friend  to  the 
sweet  girl  toward  whom  I  could  not  but  acknowl- 
edge my  own  growing  interest,  I  was  not  keenly  con- 
scious of  it. 

He  remained  with  me  when  the  three  were  gone 
and  our  eyes  met  with  mutual  understanding.  We 


A  Daylight  Mystery  59 

exchanged  no  words  on  the  immediate  happening, 
however.  He  shook  his  head  ever  so  slightly.  Then 
without  waiting  he  crossed  to  the  mantel  and  rang 
the  bell  for  John. 

The  old  man  came  promptly  at  the  call.  His 
smooth  old  face  was  full  of  pain  that  indicated 
clearly  enough  his  knowledge  of  his  young  master's 
condition;  but  King  went  sharply  to  work  question- 
ing him  as  a  salutary  antidote  for  the  thing  that 
depressed  us  all. 

"  John,"  he  began,  "  you  were  here  when  all  this 
searching  took  place.  Tell  Mr.  Randall  and  me  all 
about  it." 

The  old  man  looked  with  some  relief  from  one 
to  the  other  of  us. 

"  Well,  Mr.  King,"  he  replied,  "  I  expect  Master 
Hal  has  told  you  all  of  it.  We  searched.  The 
coroner  and  the  doctor  made  the  first  search.  Then 
the  officers — the  sheriff  was  here  and  the  reporters 
—we  all  searched,  sir.  The  first  surprise  came  of 
course  when  we  couldn't  locate  the  papers  that  Punk 
Salver  brought  with  him.  We  made  our  first  look 
for  them." 

"  Did  you  think  of  the  fire,  John?  "  asked  King. 

'  Yes,  sir,  I  did,"  answered  the  man.     "  I  looked 

in  the  grate  almost  the  first  thing  when  I  knew  the 

letters  were  gone.    The  fire  looked  clean  and  clear 

and  not  as  if  papers  had  been  burned  up  on  it." 

"  Of  course  coal  has  been  put  upon  it  since,"  sug- 
gested King. 


60  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"Oh  yes,  sir.     It's  about  five  hours,  sir,  since 
the — shooting." 

"  Just  so.    Where  else  did  you  look  ?  " 
"  Well,  sir,  the  men  here  looked  everywhere,  it 
seems.     But  you  know  how  it  is — it  never  satisfies 
you  for  another  person  to  look  for  a  thing  that  you 
want  to  find.   So  I  looked,  too.     It  may  sound  fool- 
ish but  it  doesn't  seem  so  either  when  you  think 
how  queer  this  is,  but  I  couldn't  stop  with  the  likely 
places.    I  looked  in  the  unlikely  ones,  too." 
"  What  unlikely  ones  ?  " 
"  Well,  sir,  I  looked  under  the  rugs." 
"  Good,"  said  King.     "  That  sounds  thorough." 
"  Oh,  the  search  was  surely  thorough,  sir,  though 
I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  think  why  the  papers 
haven't  been  found.    I  even  looked  behind  the  cur- 
tains, sir,  and  back  of  the  radiators.     It  occurred 
to  me  that  that  little  rascal,  Salver,  might  have  been 
quick  enough  to  think  of  some  strangely  good  hiding 
place  with  the  idea  of  coming  back  later  and  com- 
mitting another  robbery  to  get  his  letters." 
"  He  might." 

"  Yes,  sir.     It  seems  to  me  the  only  thing  he 
could  have  done.     And  he  hid  them  well." 

King  walked  across  to  the  window  where  Salver 
had  made  his  attempt  to  escape. 

"  Hal  says  he  tried  first  to  get  out,  here,"  he  said. 
"  Here's  the  place  to  begin." 

I  followed  him.     "  I  can  imagine  how  those  re- 
porters scoured  this  room  for  evidence,"  I  answered. 


A  Daylight  Mystery  61 

I  turned  the  lace  curtains  at  the  window  and 
looked  them  over  from  top  to  bottom  while  my  mind 
went  over  Philbric's  account  of  just  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

"Let's  make  a  hunt  on  our  own  account,"  pur- 
sued King.  "  Donna  and  Hal  will  be  willing  enough 
to  have  us." 

"  Did  you  look  in  the  table  drawer  where  the  gun 
was,  John?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  servant. 

"  Where  is  the  revolver  now?  " 

"  The  coroner  took  it,  sir." 

"  Did  you  look  it  over?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  They  made  me  look  at  it  for  evidence' 
sake,  I  suppose,  sir." 

"  Three  chambers  were  empty  ?  "  asked  King. 

'  Three  chambers  had  empty  shells  in  them,  sir, 
as  the  doctor  said." 

"  And  the  rest  were  loaded  ?  "  asked  I. 

"  With  ball  ca'tridge,  sir." 

"  That  seems  queer,"  said  King.  "  Three  shots 
fired  and  no  trace  of  two  of  them." 

"  Philbric  says  only  two  were  fired,"  I  suggested. 

"  Well,  the  evidence  is  against  him  there." 

"  One  shell  may  have  been  empty  before,"  said  I. 

"  That's  what  the  coroner  says,"  put  in  John. 
"  And  Master  Hal  can't  be  sure  that  it  wasn't  so, 
even  though  he  thinks  he  is.  He  loaded  the  pistol 
some  days  ago  after  he  had  used  it  to  frighten  away 
a  hawk  that  was  flying  around  our  chickens,  sir," 


62  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Hal  has  some  fancy  chickens,"  explained  King 
to  me. 

"  And  the  gun  may  not  have  been  fully  reloaded 
after  that  shooting,  sir,"  said  the  servant. 

"Of  course  it  may  not." 

"  But  two  shots  were  fired  here,"  I  remarked. 
"  One  was  stopped  by  this  thieving  little  black- 
mailer. Where  did  the  other  go  ?" 

"  That's  one  of  the  mysteries,  sir,"  replied  John. 

"  Where  did  Hal  stand  ?  About  here,  didn't  he  ?  " 
asked  King,  placing  himself  near  the  door  of  the 
library. 

"  No,  sir.  He  says  he  ran  forward  toward  Punk." 

"  Well,  when  Punk  fired  Hal  was  between  him 
and  the  door?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  according  to  his  account." 

"  Well,  Hal's  accurate  enough,  it  seems  to  me. 
Now  the  bullet  might  have  gone  out  of  the  door- 
way." 

"  It  might,  sir,"  said  John.  "  But  there's  a  plain 
wall  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  and  we've  been 
over  it  with  the  utmost  care.  There's  no  bullet- 
hole  there." 

We  were  all  examining  the  side  and  ceiling  on 
the  wall  in  which  was  the  door.  For  myself  I 
scanned  it,  from  the  tops  of  the  low  bookcases  that 
stood  against  the  wainscot  to  the  moulding  and 
around  all  sides  of  the  door  casing.  The  book- 
cases themselves,  with  large  glass  doors  intact,  com- 
ing flush  to  the  floor  in  front  and  standing  solidly 


A  Daylight  Mystery  63 

together,  showed  that  no  pistol  ball  could  have 
touched  them.  John  had  told  us  that  the  revolver 
was  a  light  one,  a  thirty-two  caliber,  and  the  hole 
such  a  ball  would  make  might  be  easy  to  miss.  Still, 
as  I  looked  over  the  papered  wall  and  the  door 
casing  I  could  see  no  place  where  such  a  mark  could 
hide. 

The  floor  was  of  waxed  hardwood.  Rugs  lay 
upon  it.  King  and  I  began  pulling  them  about  and 
presently  John  was  helping  us ;  and  we  were  plunged 
into  a  search  so  thorough  that  I  would  have  taken 
my  oath  at  the  end  that  we  had  not  missed  an  inch 
of  that  wall,  ceiling  or  floor  that  could  have  been 
marked  by  a  bullet.  I  began  to  feel  the  oppression 
of  deepening  mystery  as  we  went  over  the  story 
and  over  the  search  again  and  again.  It  seemed 
quite  unexplainable. 

We  broke  away  from  the  quest  for  the  bullet's 
course  after  a  time,  however,  and  turned  again  to 
look  for  a  possible  place  of  hiding  for  the  letters. 
There  was  only  one  theory  to  go  upon  in  this,  it 
seemed,  and  that  was  that  Salver  had  hidden  them 
somehow  and  somewhere  during  the  brief  moment 
or  two  while  Hal  was  out  of  the  room  calling  to 
John  for  help.  That  was  the  only  conceivable  ex- 
planation of  their  disappearance.  And  the  things  we 
did  in  that  room  before  we  finished  that  end  of  our 
task  are  almost  laughable.  We  looked  in  every  book 
in  the  cases  at  that  end  of  the  room.  We  looked 
behind  the  books.  We  moved  the  cases  out  from 


64  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

the  wall  and  looked  behind  them.  We  looked  be- 
hind pictures  on  the  wall,  in  the  vases  that  stood 
beside  the  fireplace,  in  the  drawer  of  the  table  and 
behind  it  in  the  recesses  of  the  table's  framework.  I 
even  unscrewed  the  tops  of  the  fire-screen's  upright 
frames,  which  were  hollow  tubing  of  brass,  and 
looked  in  them.  One  porcelain  vase  on  a  stand  by 
the  window  had  so  small  a  neck  that  it  did  not  seem 
possible  any  roll  of  letters  could  have  been  pushed 
into  it,  yet  we  examined  that,  even  getting  a  stiff 
wire  and  bending  it  so  that  we  could  explore  the 
interior  of  the  thing  with  it.  Everything  we  could 
think  of  we  did,  but  the  whole  was  fruitless.  No 
letters  were  to  be  found. 

It  seemed  a  bit  uncanny,  too,  when  Doctor  Gra- 
ham came  back  and  joined  us  and  told  us  then 
how  all  this  had  been  done  before,  how  even  the 
tiles  in  the  fireplace  had  been  examined  and  the 
chimneypiece  above  the  reach  of  the  blaze  had  been 
searched.  He  described  how  he  had  found  the  body 
of  Salver  lying  on  the  floor  where  Philbric  had  had 
the  good  sense  to  leave  it  after  it  was  certain  that  the 
man  was  dead.  He  added  that  the  boy  had  shown 
remarkable  forethought  in  preserving  such  evidence 
as  there  was  in  his  favor,  and  it  seemed  so  to  me. 
It  was  not  more  than  ten  minutes  after  the  shoot- 
ing that  the  doctor  himself  had  arrived,  for  he  had 
been  at  home  when  John  had  telephoned  and  had 
been  the  first  to  come  into  the  place,  except  the 
servant,  after  Philbric  fired  the  fatal  shot. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  INHERITANCE  WAITS 

T  ASKED  a  question  about  a  matter  that  had  not 
•••  been  explained  to  me. 

"  What  was  in  the  letters  ?  What  was  the  scandal 
Bain  and  Scancey  were  trying  to  fasten  on  the  Phil- 
brics'  friend?" 

"  Oh,"  answered  the  doctor,  "  they  schemed  to  in- 
volve Fenelon  in  a  story  that  would  connect  him 
with  a  young  woman  here  in  this  village  who  has 
recently  gotten  into  trouble — the  most  wretched  of 
woman's  troubles." 

"  Would  it  be  so  easy  to  make  such  a  thing 
stick?" 

;<  You  remember  what  Hal  said  about  it?  "  asked 
King.  "  He  expressed  the  truth.  Such  a  story,  if 
cleverly  started,  would  damage  a  man's  reputation 
were  it  wholly  untrue." 

"  Hal  said  there  was  plenty  of  trumped-up  cir- 
cumstantial evidence,"  said  Graham. 

Of  course  this  was  secondary  to  our  main  matter 
for  concern,  but  it  was  a  point  to  consider.  It  oc- 
curred to  me  that  the  woman  might  know  some- 
thing that  would  be  useful  to  us.  I  said  so. 

"  The  officers  will  look  to  that,"  said  Graham. 
65 


66  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Barnaby,  Philbric's  lawyer,  wouldn't  even  come 
out  here  to  see  Hal  till  he  had  looked  for  her  and 
for  the  hunchback  who  brought  Salver's  first  mes- 
sage. He's  after  them  now,  no  doubt.  He'll  be  out 
here  to-night." 

I  felt  again  that  the  doctor  scorned  my  sugges- 
tions and  took  some  satisfaction  in  showing  me  that 
they  were  all  anticipated.  Indeed,  I  had  the  feeling 
toward  the  man  that  he  was  inclined  to  block  investi- 
gation on  my  part  and  I  resented  it.  Doubtless  he 
resented  my  presence  there  at  all  and  perhaps  he  had 
a  right  to,  though,  with  Miss  Donna's  welcome  and 
King's  friendly  attitude,  such  a  posture  toward  me 
seemed  to  indicate  mere  ill  humor. 

We  came  to  a  sort  of  halt  when  we  reached  this 
point  in  our  conversation.  We  expected  Miss  Phil- 
brie  to  return  and  she  did  not  come.  That  was 
something  that  served  in  a  measure  to  suspend  ac- 
tion. The  doctor  discussed  Philbric's  condition 
but  neither  King  nor  I  asked  him  his  theory  as 
to  how  far  we  could  safely  presume  upon  facts  in 
the  boy's  story  as  related.  I  was  too  much  incensed 
at  the  suggestion  he  had  thrown  out  and  King  had 
doubtless  already  heard  his  opinion  in  their  talk  on 
the  porch. 

There  seemed  to  be  little  finally  for  us  to  do.  The 
doctor  announced  his  intention  of  remaining  for  a 
time.  King  wished  to  return  to  town  as  soon  as 
possible  and  see  the  coroner  and  other  officers  and 
to  meet  the  lawyer,  Barnaby,  when  he  should  arrive 


An  Inheritance  Waits  67 

from  the  city,  whither  it  had  been  ascertained  he  had 
followed  a  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  girl  men- 
tioned. 

It  was  while  I  was  asking  him  if  he  would  not 
make  use  of  me  in  any  way  that  would  help  the  Phil- 
brie  cause  that  a  maid  came  to  the  library  door  and 
interrupted  us  with  a  message  that  surprised  me. 

"Mr.  Randall?  "she  asked. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Randall,"  said  King  promptly,  indi- 
cating me. 

"  Mr.  Philbric  wants  to  see  you,  sir,"  she  said 
quickly. 

I  looked  at  the  doctor,  then  at  King.  It  was.  cer- 
tainly a  curious  thing  that  the  boy  should  send  for 
me.  But  King  nodded  promptly  and  I  rose.  I 
followed  the  maid  out  into  the  wide  hall  and  she 
led  me  at  once  up  the  broad  staircase  to  the  floor 
above.  The  afternoon  sun  was  shining  into  win- 
dows up  there  also,  and  the  whole  house  seemed  full 
of  light.  It  did  not  feel  to  me  like  a  house  of 
shadow  despite  what  had  happened  and  I  deter- 
mined that  the  best  thing  for  our  poor  nervous  boy 
was  to  let  him  think  we  felt  no  apprehensions. 

The  maid  led  me  to  a  room  not  far  from  the  head 
of  the  stairs,  and  I  found  brother  and  sister  to- 
gether. The  boy  was  seated  in  a  big  easy-chair  by 
the  open  window.  He  wore  a  great  ulster-like  coat 
and  his  knees  were  covered  with  a  rug.  On  his 
head  was  a  red-and-white  knit  skating  cap  that  cov- 
ered practically  all  of  his  hair.  It  was  a  garb  he 


68  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

wore,  I  later  learned,  when  sitting  in  the  porch  or 
in  a  room  of  which  the  windows  were  wide  open  as 
was  now  the  case.  He  seemed  to  have  a  terror  of 
cold.  The  boy  was  quiet  now  and  I  do  not  deny  that 
I  felt  a  distinct  pleasure  again  in  the  intimate  rela- 
tion into  which  the  moment  brought  me.  I  was 
welcomed  with  a  simple  friendliness  that  robbed  me 
of  my  fear  of  being  considered  the  interloper. 

"  Hal  wanted  to  see  you,"  said  Miss  Donna  sim- 
ply as  I  entered.  "  Didn't  the  doctor  tell  you  ?  " 

"  No,  he  did  not,"  I  answered,  and  felt  a  sudden 
accession  of  dislike  and  distrust  for  the  man. 

"  That's  odd,"  said  the  girl.  She  started  to  say 
more  but  her  brother  broke  in. 

"  Randall,"  he  said  quickly,  "  you  came  by  a  lucky 
chance  for  me  to-day.  Where  are  you  bound  for  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  up  to  the  city,"  I  answered  him. 

"You've  been  involuntarily  plunged  into  this  trou- 
ble of  ours  and  I'm  sorry  for  it.  But  I  wish  I  could 
explain  to  you  how  much  good  you've  done  me." 

I  smiled.  It  sounded  like  the  exaggerated  en- 
thusiasm of  a  boy.  I  was  a  little  surprised,  too,  that 
he  could  find  voice  or  thought  for  it.  But  I  did  not 
anticipate  what  was  coming. 

"  Must  you  hurry  on?  "  asked  Philbric  suddenly. 

"  I'm  on  the  way  to  see  my  uncle's  lawyers,"  I 
explained. 

"  Oh  yes.  You  are  the  heir,  are  you  not?  "  said 
the  boy  frankly. 

"  Yes." 


An  Inheritance  Waits  69 

"  Could  that  wait  a  few  days  ?  I  know  it's  an 
unreasonable  thing  to  ask,  but  I  would  give  a  good 
deal  if  you  could  stay  here  with  me — with  us.  I'll 
tell  you  why.  It's  perfectly  easy  to  read  in  your 
face  and  in  your  words  that  you  believe  me  quite 
sane." 

"  Sane !  "  I  exclaimed.     "  Why,  man " 

He  held  up  his  hand.  "  I  know,"  he  answered, 
"  but  Doctor  Graham  has  already  doubted  me,  and 
King  knows  enough  of  all  the  fool  stunts  I  have 
done  in  the  last  few  weeks  to  bias  him.  I  am  sick 
—there's  no  doubt  of  that.  But  I'm  not  crazy  and  I 
like  a  man  at  hand  who  believes  I'm  not." 

I  laughed.  It  sounded  sane  surely  and  my  faith 
rose  with  his  request.  Also  my  heart  leaped  and 
then  contracted  again  with  a  slow  sense  of  guilt 
as  I  realized  what  such  an  invitation  meant  to  me 
and  why.  I  looked  at  the  beautiful  girl  who  sat 
beside  the  boy  and  saw  her  eyes  wide  with  appeal 
to  me,  quite  innocent  of  anything  that  could  sug- 
gest consciousness  that  I  might  feel  temptation  be- 
cause of  her. 

"  If  you  could  stay  it  would  be  a  real  comfort  to 
Hal,"  she  said. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  there  isn't  a  thing  in  the  world 
to  hurry  me  of  course.  Frankly  there  is  nothing 
I  would  like  better  than  to  stay,  particularly  if  I 
can  be  of  use  to  you.  I'm  a  rank  outsider  but  I  don't 
feel  so,  I  assure  you." 

"  It's  extraordinary  for  me  to  ask  such  a  thing," 


yo  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

said  Hal  quickly.  "  But  you  can  grant  a  whim  of 
a  sick  man,  can't  you  ?  I  think  you  are  the  sort  who 
can  do  just  that." 

I  assented.  I  could  not  have  decided  otherwise 
if  more  had  depended  on  my  presence  in  the  city 
than  the  mere  formalities  of  taking  over  my  inheri- 
tance. That  would  wait — surely  that  would  wait 
while  I  stayed  to  play  out  my  hand  in  the  game  into 
which  I  had  been  drawn. 

"  I'll  send  a  man  up  to  the  station  in  the  city  for 
your  luggage,"  said  Philbric,  and  presently  the  thing 
was  done.  And  then,  as  much  surprised  at  the  turn 
affairs  had  taken  as  any  similarly  placed  being  could 
be,  I  began  adjusting  my  ideas  to  the  situation. 

It  was  by  a  simple  artifice  that  Donna  got  me 
out  of  the  room  and  into  the  hall  with  herself  soon 
after  the  invitation  was  given  and  accepted.  She 
suggested  that  she  would  show  me  the  room  that 
would  be  mine  that  I  might  make  free  to  come  and 
go.  She  said  that  she  herself  must  attend  now  to 
matters  that  had  so  far  been  neglected  in  the  tur- 
moil into  which  the  house  had  been  thrown,  and  I 
suggested  that  I  could  remain  with  her  brother  till 
she  returned.  I  went  with  her,  therefore,  out  of 
the  presence  of  Hal.  In  the  hall  she  stopped  me  at 
a  little  distance  from  his  door. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  think  we  shall  have  little  difficulty  with  this 
case,"  I  answered  her. 

I  looked  down  into  her  lovely  face,  filled  with  her 


An  Inheritance  Waits  71 

affectionate  anxiety  for  her  brother.  In  her  beauty 
I  could  not  but  delight,  but  it  was  not  that  alone  that 
made  my  vivid  consciousness  of  her  nearness  to  me 
so  sweet  that  I  caught  my  very  breath  at  the  thrill 
of  it. 

But  she  was  not  thinking  of  any  such  thing.  She 
was  only  dissatisfied  with  my  answer  and  wanted 
a  better  one. 

"  I  mean  what  about  Hal?  "  she  persisted. 

"  He  is  safe,"  I  said. 

"Is  he?  Is  he  quite,  quite  safe?"  Her  voice 
sank  to  a  whisper  and  she  seemed  to  forget  entirely 
that  I  was  but  a  stranger. 

"Of  course,"  said  I.  "  People  are  human  beings. 
The  authorities  will  recognize  exactly  what  we  do, 
and  whether  we  find  all  the  supporting  evidence  we 
desire  for  the  boy's  story  or  not,  everybody  is  bound 
to  take  the  same  view." 

"  Doctor  Graham  thinks — he  suggests  that — per- 
haps Hal  doesn't  remember  all  the  details,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  Doctor  Graham  believes  his  story  to  be  entirely 
true." 

'  Yes,  he  says  so.  But  he  means  that  he  believes 
that  Hal  thinks  it  is  all  true.  Hal  is  telling  what  he 
believes  are  all  the  facts." 

"  Hal  is  telling  the  facts,"  I  asserted.  She  was 
tremulous  in  her  anxiety.  Indeed,  she  showed  now 
more  of  the  shock  that  had  come  to  her  from  the 
terrible  happening  than  she  had  shown  at  all,  and 


72  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  who  had  looked  with  a  man's  eyes  on  the  thing 
began  to  realize  as  I  had  not  before  just  how  awful 
the  tragedy  must  appear  to  her.  I  was  confident — 
too  confident — that  Hal  Philbric  would  have  no 
difficulty  to  prove  the  facts  he  had  related  to  us,  but 
I  felt  a  truer  sympathy  for  the  girl  then  than 
before. 

"  And  you  don't  think — as  the  doctor  does  ?  "  she 
asked. 

Her  eyes  were  almost  piteously  pleading. 

"  I  think,"  I  began,  and  then  I  hesitated.  I  be- 
lieved the  doctor's  suggestion  that  there  was  any 
question  of  Philbric's  clarity  of  recollection  was  ri- 
diculous and  I  wanted  to  say  so.  But  I  remembered 
that  he  was  the  family  physician  and  paused.  In- 
stantly she  misunderstood. 

"Don't  you  think,"  she  whispered,  "that  Hal 
knows  ?  "  Suddenly  her  hand  came  out  and  caught 
my  arm  with  a  hard  little  clasp.  "  Don't  you  think 
he  is — he  is  sane  ?  " 

Her  touch  went  through  me  like  an  electric  shock. 
I  felt  it  to  the  last  fiber  of  me.  I  stood  looking 
down  upon  her,  there  in  the  light  of  the  late  after- 
noon sun  which  touched  her  dark  hair  with  the  glow 
of  rich  color  till  it  seemed  like  a  glory  to  her,  and 
I  saw  that  hers  was  a  wonderful  perfection.  I 
knew  not  how  it  was  or  why,  but  I  could  not  com- 
mand the  feeling  that  was  rising  in  me  toward  this 
girl.  I  could  only  hold  in  check  the  expression  that 
passion  ever  rushes  compellingly  to  the  lips,  and 


An  Inheritance  Waits  73 

cover  as  I  might  the  signs  that  I  had  no  right  to 
show.  I  looked  her  in  the  eyes  and  answered. 

"  Your  brother  is  as  sane  as  you — or  I,"  I  told  her. 

A  moment  more  and  she  had  pointed  out  to  me 
the  room  that  was  mine,  had  left  me  at  the  door 
and  was  gone,  and  I  stood  looking  from  a  high 
window  down  upon  the  buds  of  the  maple  trees 
and  wondering  if  I  myself  could  claim  sanity  at  all, 
or  if  my  own  brain  had  not  suddenly  run  mad  to 
hold  the  thoughts  that  were  rioting  there. 

It  was  minutes  before  I  could  go  back  to  Philbric. 
When  I  did  the  boy's  bright  eyes  were  eagerly 
watchful  to  greet  me. 

"  I'm  a  fool,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  with  ready  ease 
of  confidence  that  seemed  to  me  to  promise  well  for 
better  self-control  presently.  "  I'm  a  fool  to  take 
what  Doctor  Graham  said  so  literally  and  to  build 
imaginings  out  of  it.  He  suggested  that  I  might 
have  mixed  real  and  unreal  in  my  excitement  and 
it  frightened  me." 

"  It  shouldn't." 

"  No.  But  I've  been  afraid  sometimes  that  I 
could  not  keep  the  upper  hand  when  things  tried  my 
nerves  very  much.  I  made  an  exhibition  of  myself 
just  now.  You  can  see  how  serious  it  is." 

He  was  very  calm  in  speaking  of  it.  He  seemed 
almost  not  to  care  that  he  had  so  broken  down. 
But  as  I  glanced  at  his  hands  I  saw  them  tightly 
clasped  on  his  knees  almost  as  if  they  were  wrung 
together. 


74  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  I  sympathize  with  you,  my  dear  boy,"  I  told 
him.  "  But  I  believe  you  are  quite  as  perfectly  pos- 
sessed of  your  full  and  complete  faculties  as  any  of 
us  ever  are." 

"  That's  what  I  felt  sure  of  about  you,  Randall. 
It's  a  very  strange  thing  your  coming  here  so.  But 
I'm  downright  thankful  for  it.  It's  a  whim  maybe 
that  I  want  you,  but  I  feel  more  strongly  than  I  can 
tell  you  that  you  can  help  me." 

"  Good,"  said  I. 

"  It's  a  strange  thing  to  feel  the  responsibility— 
for  the  death  of  a  man.  I  feel  it  very  keenly.  I  am 
uncomfortably  aware  of  the  figure  of  that  poor  little 
dead  bum  down  there  on  the  library  rug — who  died 
because  I  shot  him.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  like  to 
feel  that  a  man  like  you  believes  I  am  quite  right 
in  my  mind  when  I  have  that  clinging  image  in 
my  brain  and  have  to  set  up  as  a  shield  my  memory 
of  the  reason  why  I  killed  him?" 

He  still  spoke  quite  calmly  but  his  words  con- 
veyed a  sense  of  his  feeling  that  was  startling.  I 
felt  the  stir  of  a  newer  anxiety  about  him  of  which 
I  had  not  thought  before.  But  I  answered  brashly, 
"  If  I  had  shot  a  man  in  self-defense — a  burglar, 
a  highwayman — I  would  worry  little  about  it." 

He  looked  at  me  long  and  steadily,  then  he  shook 
his  head,  and  his  smile  came  back  a  little. 

"Strange,  strange !  "  he  said.  "  Dan  Randall ! 
You  are  Dan  Randall !  " 

I  laughed.    "  You  are  determined  to  make  a  mys- 


An  Inheritance  Waits  75 

tery  of  this  for  me,"  I  said.  "  When  have  you 
known  me?  In  some  former  life?  I've  certainly 
never  made  reputation  enough  anywhere  in  this  for 
you  to  have  heard  of  me." 

His  smile  continued.    "  You  little  know,"  he  said. 

We  were  quiet  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  boy 
abruptly  turned  his  head.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  said, 
"  I  believe  I  could  sleep.  I  haven't  slept  well  for 
some  time  at  night  and  my  best  time  is  mid-after- 
noon. I'm  rather  done  up,  but  your  promise  to  stay 
has  done  a  lot  to  quiet  my  jumping  nerves.  Would 
you  mind  if  I  slept?  " 

"Of  course  not.  Take  a  nap  and  we'll  all  fall 
to  and  settle  this  thing  when  you  wake  up,"  said  I. 

'  You  go  down  and  talk  to  Donna  and  to  the 
doctor  and  King  again,"  he  said.  "  King  is  a  fine 
chap,  Randall,"  he  added  rather  suddenly. 

"  He  looks  it,"  I  answered. 

"  And  you,"  said  the  boy,  "  you  look  just  as  I 
might  have  expected  you  would — only  better.  Ran- 
dall, this  will  be  the  beginning  of  acquaintance  for 
you,  but  we  know  you  already." 

It  was  as  if  he  meant  to  draw  a  question,  but  I 
would  not  ask  another.  I  rose  and  walked  toward 
the  door.  "  Sleep  up,  old  fellow,"  I  said.  "  I'll  call 
on  you  later." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  nodded  languidly.  I  stood 
a  moment  watching  him.  Then  I  turned  to  the 
stairway. 

I  went  downstairs  rather  slowly.     I  was  much 


76  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

more  stirred  by  all  the  long  day's  occurrences  than 
I  had  cared  to  show  to  Philbric.  Each  review  of 
what  I  had  already  experienced  that  day  made  me 
wonder  more  at  the  strangeness  of  it.  I  began  to 
be  half  superstitiously  of  the  opinion  that  fortune 
had  indeed  flung  me  a  special  gift  and  whimsically 
cherished  the  notion  that  further  favor  was  to  be 
mine.  I  was  absorbed  in  thought  of  it  as  I  ap- 
proached the  library  door,  thinking  how  much  of 
what  Hal  had  said  I  should  tell  to  his  sister,  when, 
as  I  reached  the  threshold,  I  heard  low  voices 
within.  Before  I  became  conscious  of  intrusion  I 
had  looked  up  and  had  seen,  not  the  two  men  I 
had  left,  but  a  man  and  a  girl  standing  by  the 
hearth-mantel.  They  were  close  together,  the  girl 
with  her  back  against  the  marble,  the  other — tall, 
handsome,  black-haired  fellow  that  he  was,  a  fine 
figure  of  a  man — standing  before  her,  his  hand  upon 
her  very  shoulder.  And  I  heard  the  murmur  of 
Donna  Philbric's  voice  distinctly,  as,  quite  uncon- 
scious of  my  sudden  coming,  she  stood  looking  ear- 
nestly up  into  Robert  King's  face. 

"  Please  not  now,  Bob.  Please  don't — not  now," 
she  was  saying. 

I  turned  away  swiftly  and  crossed  to  the  billiard 
room  across  the  great  hall.  There  I  walked  to  the 
window  and  looked  out  upon  the  sunlit  lawn  and 
felt  a  pain  like  a  physical  agony  grip  the  heart 
of  me. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THRUST  UNDER  GUARD 

THE  papers  had  it  that  night — a  blazing  three- 
column  head  in  most  of  them  with  Hal's  pic- 
ture, obtained  by  unexplained  means,  and  his  story 
dressed  up  in  all  the  newswriter's  most  dramatic 
terms. 

The  flaring  sheets  came  out  to  us  on  the  early 
evening  trains  and  John  brought  me  a  copy  with  my 
bags,  which  had  been  found  and  brought  out  also. 
I  was  alone  in  my  own  room  after  a  wandering 
walk  in  the  grounds  and  then  a  longer  tramp  on 
the  country-road  in  an  effort  to  avoid  immediate 
meeting  again  with  Donna  and  to  keep  out  of  reach 
of  the  doctor. 

King  had  gone  up  to  the  city,  I  learned  from  the 
servant,  and  later  he  had  telephoned  that  he  had 
met  Barnaby,  but  that  neither  of  them  would  come 
out  that  night,  because  of  work  to  do  there.  This 
seemed  odd  to  me,  but  I  gave  very  little  attention  to 
it  at  the  time;  neither  did  I  read  the  newspaper's 
account  of  our  story  for  the  simple  reason  that  Hal 
sent  for  me  soon  after  the  sheet  came  and  I  did 
not  want  to  take  the  thing  with  me  to  him.  When 
he  asked  about  the  papers,  too,  I  advised  him  not  to 

77 


78  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

read  them  till  next  day,  and  Donna  herself  avoided 
them.  So  it  happened  that  we  did  not  get  the  full 
significance  of  the  tale  in  its  public  telling  at  once. 

We  spent  the  evening  together.  Doctor  Graham 
took  himself  off  early,  much  to  my  own  satisfaction, 
for  I  had  come  to  look  upon  him  in  the  light  of  an 
antagonist  at  every  point.  But  the  aunt  of  whom 
I  had  heard  joined  us  after  a  day  spent  in  her  room, 
and  I  was  almost  as  sorry  to  have  her  about,  for 
she  was  a  nervous,  anxious,  fussy  body  who  could 
have  but  a  poor  effect  on  Hal. 

I  gathered  quickly  from  conversation  now  de- 
tails of  the  family's  circumstances  with  which  I  was 
unacquainted.  Father  and  mother  were  dead. 
Aunt  Charlotte,  as  they  called  her,  was  the  father's 
sister  and  had  lived  for  years  with  the  children,  who 
were  amply  provided  with  money  from  their  fa- 
ther's estate.  Indeed,  the  possessions  of  the  family 
were  unmistakably  large,  so  chance  remarks  indi- 
cated plainly.  Hal  had  been  away  at  school  up  to 
the  time  of  an  illness  the  year  before  when  a  fever 
had  pulled  him  down  badly.  He  had  afterwards  suf- 
fered severely  with  what  had  been  called  by  Doctor 
Graham  a  condition  bordering  on  nervous  prostra- 
tion. He  had  partially  recovered  again  in  time  to 
take  a  hand  in  Fenelon's  campaign  for  the  senator- 
ship  in  which  he  was  ardently  interested,  and  he 
spent  himself  in  writing  material  for  campaign  and 
for  the  papers  in  active  fight  against  the  man 
Bain.  He  was  now  suffering  more  heavily  for 


Thrust  Under  Guard  79 

his  overwork  and  was  unquestionably  in  a  serious 
condition. 

There  were  all  the  contradictions  both  in  appear- 
ance and  in  capacity  at  different  hours  that  show 
themselves  in  cases  of  his  kind.  He  did  not  always 
look  like  a  sick  man.  He  was  in  good  flesh  and  had 
good  color,  and,  except  in  times  of  greatest  stress, 
he  did  not  show  very  plainly  the  abnormal  symp- 
toms of  his  malady.  But  that  he  was  wretchedly 
weak  with  that  peculiarly  treacherous  weakness  of 
undermined  nervous  force  was  clear  enough.  Un- 
der the  circumstances  it  was  peculiarly  unfortunate 
that  the  thing  which  had  come  upon  him  should  have 
occurred.  It  would  have  been  hard  enough  for  any 
normally  strong  and  healthy  man  to  have  such  a 
break  in  the  peace  of  his  life  and  to  be  loaded  with 
such  a  weight  of  responsibility.  The  thing  was 
worse  than  a  misfortune  to  this  boy;  I  could  see 
that  it  was  a  menace  upon  his  immediate  future. 

It  would  be  hard  to  keep  up  his  spirits,  I  fully 
understood,  as  we  talked  together  that  night,  and 
so  I  tried  to  cheer  them  all.  We  made  an  attempt 
to  keep  away  from  discussion  of  the  day's  events, 
which  was,  of  course,  fruitless.  Aunt  Charlotte 
must  needs  tell  reminiscences  of  Punk  Salver,  who 
had  been  a  ne'er-do-well  of  the  village  from  Hal's 
boyhood.  Hal  could  not  but  dwell  morbidly  on  the 
doctor's  cursed  suggestion  as  to  the  completeness  of 
his  command  of  his  faculties  at  the  time  of  the 
shooting,  and  Donna  herself  was  so  over  weighed 


80  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

with  the  sense  of  the  tragedy  that  she  became  rather 
distraught.  I  attempted  to  hearten  them  by  hard 
common  sense,  arguing  the  obvious  things  I  had 
argued  before. 

But  we  spent  a  rather  painful  evening,  and  when 
I  went  to  my  room  at  the  end  of  it  I  was  even  a 
trifle  depressed  myself. 

But  morning  brought  a  situation  that  I,  at  least, 
had  not  anticipated,  and  a  development  of  the 
case  that  was  startling  enough.  Remembering  my 
promise  to  Judson  Bain,  made  at  the  time  of  the 
clash  in  his  office,  I  had  telephoned  in  to  the  little 
suburban  hotel  at  Hazelhurst,  as  the  town  was 
called,  that  I  would  be  at  the  Philbric  home  in  case 
I  was  wanted.  I  had  not  heard  from  my  antagonist 
who  had  so  rudely  started  me  upon  the  path  I  was 
now  not  unwillingly  traveling.  But  when  I  de- 
scended to  the  library  after  John's  call  had  roused 
me  to  the  new  day,  I  found  King  and  Barnaby  there 
before  me  with  news  indeed. 

They  had  the  morning  papers,  and  prominent  on 
the  first  page  I  found  my  own  part  in  the  day's 
affairs  set  forth  in  surprising  fashion.  Briefly,  I 
was  charged  with  assault  upon  Bain  and  Scancey  in 
their  offices  at  Hazelhurst.  Of  course  the  affair 
was  associated  with  the  Philbric  case  and  the  shoot- 
ing of  Punk  Salver,  but,  as  my  clash  with  Bain  had 
occurred  before  news  of  the  shooting  of  Salver  had 
reached  the  town,  there  was  more  or  less  of  a  mys- 
tery made  of  this  also. 


Thrust  Under  Guard  81 

The  story  about  my  fracas  was  from  Bain  and 
Scancey,  of  course,  and  why  no  legal  proceedings 
had  been  started  against  me  I  was  at  first  at  a  loss 
to  understand.  But  when  I  turned  from  the  story 
of  my  affair  to  the  latest  on  Philbric's,  I  myself 
almost  forgot  the  thing.  Barnaby,  who  was  a  stout, 
gray,  competent-looking  fellow  of  thirty-eight  or  so, 
slightly  bald  but  otherwise  looking  more  pugnacious 
than  studious,  called  my  attention  to  the  seriousness 
of  the  new  aspect  upon  the  case  before  I  had  had 
time  to  grasp  it,  however. 

"  Hal  has  put  a  weapon  into  Bain's  hands  now," 
he  said  laconically. 

"  How  so?  "  I  asked,  as  I  endeavored  to  get  all 
the  meaning  of  the  headings  in  one  eager  glance. 

"  He's  played  straight  into  Bain's  hands,"  said 
King. 

"  If  he  had  only  waited  before  talking,"  said  the 
lawyer,  "  we'd  have  a  simple  case  with  nothing  to 
prove  but  that  the  boy  killed  Salver  in  self-defense, 
and  with  nobody  deeply  interested 'to  prove  the  op- 
posite." 

My  eyes  lighted  on  a  line  in  the  paper's  headings 
that  held  them  fixed  and  made  me  gasp. 

"  You  mean "  I  began. 

"  I  mean  that  Bain  has  now,  of  course,  every  rea- 
son on  earth  for  endeavoring  to  prove  Philbric's 
story  false." 

"  And  he  will  attempt  it?  " 

"  He  has  commenced." 


82  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  He  has  denied  the  story  of  the  letters,"  said 
King.  "  He  talks  wildly — too  wildly  for  the  pa- 
pers to  quote  him  exactly.  They  don't  dare  yet. 
But  they  will  to-day.  Randall,  Bain  charges  mur- 
der against  our  boy  and  he  has  undertaken  to  stand 
as  accuser." 

It  was  the  line  I  had  seen  in  the  paper. 

"  But  they  can't  support  such  a  charge,"  I  an- 
swered, half  combatively  even  toward  these  friends 
of  my  friends. 

"  What  they  might  do  with  the  simple  murder 
charge  is  also  an  open  question,"  said  Barnaby. 
"  But  they  have  made  a  clever  story  that  is  going 
to  be  terribly  hard  to  fight.  They  claim  that  they 
themselves  sent  Salver  to  Hal  with  a  verbal  mes- 
sage warning  him  to  retract  certain  statements  he 
had  made  in  the  papers." 

I  dropped  the  paper.  The  story  was  being  more 
succinctly  told  by  the  lawyer. 

"They  claim  to  have  sent  Punk  Salver?" 

"  Yes.  They  admit  that  their  office  was  robbed 
but  claim  now  that  it  was  only  an  incident — a  coin- 
cidence, perhaps.  But  they  say,  and  they  mean  to 
push  the  charge,  that  Philbric's  story  of  the  letters 
alleged  to  reveal  a  conspiracy  on  their  part  against 
Fenelon  is  a  pure  creation  of  Philbric's  brain." 

"  They  have  that  opportunity,"  said  I. 

"  They  have,  indeed,"  exclaimed  King,  with  more 
excitement  than  I  had  seen  him  show.  "  But  they 
have  taken  the  cleverest  possible  way — and  the  most 


Thrust  Under  Guard  83 

damnable.  They  do  not  charge  that  a  boy  of  the 
family  and  reputation  of  Hal  Philbric  is  a  common 
liar  and  a  wilful  murderer.  They  take  far  more 
dangerous  ground  than  that.  They  charge,  Randall, 
that  our  boy  is  insane." 

I  can  scarcely  describe  the  shock  of  the  thing 
to  me.  I  shall  not  try.  I  was  without  words  to 
reply  and  I  listened  to  the  lawyer's  summing  up 
of  the  points  in  the  case  with  a  sickening  realization 
that  the  situation  was  simply  overwhelming. 

"  Hal  has  been  sick  a  long  time  with  serious 
nervous  symptoms,"  said  Barnaby.  "  Everybody 
knows  that.  He  has  been  an  enemy  of  Bain's  and 
his  most  recent  breakdown  has  come  because  of 
his  intense  activity  in  the  campaign  against  the  man. 
People  would  not  readily  credit  crime  from  a  boy 
like  Hal.  They  would  not  be  surprised  that  his 
mind  was  affected.  There  isn't  one  particle  of 
proof  yet  to  support  Hal's  own  statement  of  what 
brought  Clarence  Salver  here  yesterday,  and 
Scancey — it's  he  who  is  the  clever  one — is  smooth 
enough  to  seize  instantly  the  opportunity  to  make 
the  insanity  charge  still  more  plausible  by  claiming 
that  Punk  was  their  agent,  and  that  they  knew  per- 
fectly well  his  errand  here.  Punk  will  never  give 
his  evidence.  The  girl  whose  name  was  coupled 
with  Fenelon's  by  Bain's  scheme  has  disappeared 
and  so  has  the  hunchback  who  brought  Punk  Sal- 
ver's message  to  Hal.  We  can't  find  them." 

"  It's  fiendishly  ingenious,"  said  King. 


84  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  It's  that,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  But  the  very  worst  of  it  is,"  said  King,  "  that 
the  effect  on  Hal  himself  may  be — may  be  dis- 
astrous." 

He  looked  up  at  me.  His  eyes  were  of  the  kind 
so  black  that  retina  and  pupil  are  scarcely  distin- 
guishable from  each  other.  I  remember  how  they 
glittered  with  a  light  that  made  me  love  his  spirit 
as  he  spoke,  for  if  ever  a  look  showed  fight  his  did 
at  the  instant.  He  was  the  man  who  had  stepped 
between  me  and  a  mad  new-sprung  hope,  but  at  that 
instant  I  felt  drawn  to  him  in  a  way  I  have  been 
attracted  to  few  men.  He  was  an  element  to  count 
on  in  this  fight — and  fight  it  was  to  be;  and  I  felt 
the  sudden  stir  of  my  blood  against  disheartenment 
that  his  words  might  have  brought. 

But  it  was  far  too  serious  a  suggestion  he  made 
to  be  ignored.  Philbric  was  already  worried  by 
Doctor  Graham's  strangely  inconsiderate  questions, 
— which  seemed  to  be  positively  unprofessional. 
What  might  be  the  effect  of  a  pressing  of  Bain's 
charge — of  an  actual  inquiry  into  the  boy's  sanity 
— forced  by  the  men  who  had  every  interest  in  prov- 
ing him  insane?  I  am  not  exactly  a  weakling.  I 
am  accounted  strong.  But  I  felt  like  a  man  whose 
enemy  has  caught  him  under  his  guard,  when  first 
full  realization  of  the  case  came  to  me. 

But  I  had  not  much  chance  to  mingle  in  the  coun- 
cils of  the  family  that  morning.  My  immunity 
from  the  consequences  of  the  battle  in  Bain's  office 


Thrust  Under  Guard  85 

was  to  be  short  indeed.  And  it  was  even  while 
we  sat  there,  the  lawyer,  King  and  I,  that  the  town 
marshal,  my  friend  of  the  day  before,  arrived  at 
the  house  with  a  request  that  I  go  with  him  to 
answer  to  the  charge  lodged  against  me.  He  had 
a  warrant  for  me  in  fact,  and  it  had  only  been  due 
to  a  neglect  of  my  message  to  the  hotel  that  I  had 
not  heard  from  the  case  the  day  before. 

I  welcomed  the  officer's  coming.  It  would  give 
me  early  chance  of  facing  Bain  again,  I  thought,  and 
there  were  few  things  I  so  much  wanted  now.  I 
had  made  no  formal  charge  against  him  the  day 
before  but  I  would  now,  and  I  meant  to  make  it 
so  hot  for  him  that  he  would  have  things  to  think 
of  besides  Hal.  I  hoped  there  would  be  trouble  in- 
deed at  the  justice's  court  when  I  should  arrive,  and 
I  was  instantly  eager  to  be  off. 

Both  King  and  Barnaby  were  surprised  at  Bain's 
action,  but  Barnaby  was  prompt  to  call  up  a  lawyer 
who  was  associated  with  himself  in  Hazelhurst,  and 
ask  him  to  accompany  me  to  my  hearing.  He  him- 
self had  enough  to  do  with  Hal's  affair.  I  would 
not  hear  of  King's  going  with  me,  either,  though 
he  offered  to  do  so.  It  seemed  best  to  me,  too,  to 
go  at  once  and  get  this  officer  and  this  complication 
out  of  the  house  before  Donna  and  Hal  appeared. 
They  would  have  enough  to  think  of  when  they 
should  learn  of  Bain's  move  against  them.  And 
so  I  told  King.  He  agreed  with  me,  but  the  urgency 
of  his  request  that  I  return  as  soon  as  I  could  ar- 


86  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

range  bond — which  he  himself  offered  to  supply  if 
necessary — was  strong.  I  promised,  and,  in  a  quar- 
ter hour  after  the  marshal's  arrival,  he  and  I  were 
on  the  road  to  breakfast  in  town. 

My  case,  of  which  my  enemy  had  made  nothing 
more  serious  than  simple  assault  so  far,  was  naturally 
to  come  before  the  local  administrator  of  justice, 
and  I  determined  upon  what  my  immediate  course 
would  be.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  waive 
hearing  and  be  bound  over  if  possible  to  the  county 
court,  so  that  the  greatest  publicity  might  be  given 
the  case;  and  then  I  would  prepare  a  defense  that 
would  end  in  a  counter-charge  of  more  serious  na- 
ture against  the  two  men  who  had  had  the  will, 
indeed,  to  attack  me,  and  who  had  only  been  dis- 
appointed because  of  my  good  luck  in  being  strong. 

My  companion  was  a  wholesome,  sensible  fellow. 
His  name  was  Clausen,  he  told  me,  and  we  were 
presently  on  good  terms.  He  told  me  also  that  Bain 
had  seemed  curiously  eager  to  press  my  case  the 
day  before  when  he  had  first  made  the  charge 
against  me,  and  that  he  himself  would  have  been 
forced  to  come  after  me  then  if  any  one  had  known 
that  King  had  brought  me  to  The  Hazels.  I  had 
been  seen  in  King's  car,  but,  as  I  was  a  stranger  and 
as  no  one  had  understood  that  King  intended  to 
take  me  to  the  Philbrics'  home,  they  had  looked 
citywards  for  me.  We  talked  of  this  a  little.  But 
presently  my  custodian  was  full  of  shrewd  questions 
about  events  at  The  Hazels,  and  I  found  it  necessary 


Thrust  Under  Guard  87 

to  guard  my  replies  well  to  avoid  saying  too  much. 

We  arrived  at  the  village  hotel  without  my  feel- 
ing that  I  had  betrayed  a  secret  or  misstated  a  fact, 
however,  and  Clausen  waited  while  I  disposed  of  a 
cup  of  coffee.  Then  we  went  promptly  to  the  office 
of  the  local  justice  with  my  anticipation  whetted  to 
keen  eagerness.  There  was  some  interest  in  my 
case  apparently,  too,  I  judged,  for  a  number  of  on- 
lookers had  gathered  to  see  what  might  happen. 
But,  as  I  entered  the  place  looking  about  for  my 
enemies  and  Hal's,  surprise  indeed  was  found  wait- 
ing for  me.  My  lawyer,  whose  name  was  Cole, 
met  me  at  once — a  keen-eyed  young  chap  with  a 
good  grip  in  his  fingers.  And  his  first  greeting  was 
a  laugh. 

"  The  charge  against  you  has  been  withdrawn, 
Mr.  Randall,"  he  said.  "  It  isn't  ten  minutes  since 
a  lawyer  of  the  village  appeared  on  the  scene  here 
acting  for  Bain  and  asked  that  the  case  be  dropped." 

The  thing  was  so  astonishing  as  to  be  suggestive. 
I  exclaimed,  naturally.  Then  the  story  was  retold 
with  details  that  added  nothing  to  it.  Then  came 
the  partial  explanation.  Bain  and  Scancey  had  sud- 
denly been  called  away  from  town.  Scancey  had 
gone  to  the  city.  About  Bain  there  seemed  to  be 
a  curious  story.  I  did  not  hear  it,  however,  till  I 
had  lodged  my  own  complaint  against  the  two  with 
all  necessary  formalities,  insisting  that  I  would  hang 
every  drag  I  could  upon  them  that  might  handicap 
their  war  upon  my  friends.  Then  fully  released 


88  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

from  the  charge  against  me,  I  went  with  Cole  at 
his  invitation  to  his  office  and  listened  to  a  queer 
tale. 

The  day  before,  as  the  marshal,  Clausen,  had 
told  me,  Bain  had  been  almost  rabid  in  his  desire 
to  prosecute  the  charge  against  me  and  had  tried 
to  make  the  accusation  one  of  assault  with  intent 
to  do  great  bodily  harm.  Scancey  had  entered  the 
complaint  in  the  less  serious  form,  however,  and 
had  tried  to  quiet  Bain's  rage.  Curiously  enough 
the  news  of  the  shooting  of  Salver  at  The  Hazels 
was  not  told  to  either  of  them  till  after  the  charge 
against  me  was  filed,  because  no  one  cared  to  ap- 
proach them  with  the  story  of  the  letters  which 
promptly  came  out.  After  the  tale  came  to  them, 
however,  by  the  mouth  of  a  reporter  who  inter- 
viewed them,  it  was  only  natural  that  they  should 
forget  the  minor  affair  with  me  for  a  time. 

They  would  give  no  statement  for  the  evening 
papers,  however,  except  a  general  denial  of  Phil- 
bric's  story;  and  then  they  had  spent  the  afternoon 
and  half  the  night  alone  in  their  office,  seeing  no 
one  who  called,  until  they  had  admitted  reporters 
again  about  midnight,  and  had  given  out  the  tale 
that  had  appeared  in  the  morning  papers.  Then 
came  the  curious  part. 

Judson  Bain  had  left  his  office  about  one  o'clock. 
Cole  himself  had  seen  the  man  on  the  street  with 
Scancey,  as  he,  Cole,  was  returning  home  at  that 
late  hour  from  a  discussion  of  the  startling  news  at 


the  hotel.  The  young  lawyer,  who  lived  not  far 
from  Bain's  residence,  had  followed  the  two  with 
some  curiosity,  and  he  saw  them  enter  the  gates  of 
Bain's  place  together.  He  would  not  have  been  fur- 
ther attracted  to  watch,  had  it  not  been  that  just  as 
he  was  about  to  turn  away,  two  people,  a  man  and 
a  woman,  whom  he  could  see  by  the  light  in  the 
street  but  could  not  recognize,  came  hastily  up  to- 
gether and  entered  the  grounds  behind  Bain  and 
Scancey. 

So  hurried  had  been  the  movements  of  the  second 
pair  that  Cole  out  of  curiosity  had  paused  to  listen 
and  watch.  Almost  immediately  after  the  four  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  shadow  of  Bain's  shrubbery, 
however,  there  came  the  sound  of  momentary  high 
words  quickly  quieted.  The  phrases  were  not  dis- 
tinguishable. Then  all  grew  abruptly  quiet.  A  mo- 
ment later,  however,  Scancey  came  out  of  the  dark- 
ness half  running. 

Cole  stepped  behind  his  own  gateway  to  avoid  the 
man  as  he  passed,  and  Scancey  evidently  did  not  see 
him.  The  young  lawyer  stood  quiet  after  that,  wait- 
ing, for  there  was  enough  of  the  unusual  about  all 
this  to  stir  a  deeper  interest.  When  everything  re- 
mained quiet  for  some  minutes  then,  however,  he 
had  about  made  up  his  mind  to  go  in  and  to  bed. 
He  heard  the  sound  of  an  automobile  engine,  how- 
ever, at  the  Bain  garage  which  was  on  his  own  side 
of  Bain's  grounds,  and  he  waited  again.  Presently  a 
machine,  evidently  Bain's,  came  out  upon  the  drive 


9O  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

where  Cole  could  see  it  through  the  unfledged  trees, 
and  immediately  afterwards  the  machine  ran  quickly 
to  the  road  and  out  upon  it.  Turning,  the  motor 
came  past  Cole's  place,  and  in  it  the  young  lawyer 
saw  two  men  seated,  one  at  the  wheel  in  front,  the 
other  in  the  tonneau.  The  one  in  front,  he  was 
positive  in  his  own  mind,  had  been  Judson  Bain. 
The  other  was  no  one  he  knew,  so  far  as  the  dim 
light  of  street-lamps  had  revealed.  The  third  per- 
son— the  woman — had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
SHEER  HAZARD 

TO  me,  in  the  light  of  what  had  occurred,  the 
story  seemed  remarkable.  Cole  told  it  al- 
most laughingly.  He  recognized  the  seriousness  of 
the  situation  but  the  mystery  appealed  to  him  as 
humorous  rather  than  sobering.  To  me,  with  the 
memory  of  Hal  and  his  condition,  and  of  Hal's  sis- 
ter and  her  anxiety,  and  with  the  thought  of  what 
must  now  be  their  deepened  dismay  and  fear,  there 
was  nothing  that  could  excite  amusement.  I  was 
impatient  to  learn  more.  Apparently  there  was  no 
more,  however.  Cole  had  gone  in,  soon  after  the 
occurrence  he  had  seen,  and  had  gone  to  bed.  He 
had  risen  in  the  morning  to  receive  Barnaby's  tele- 
phone message  asking  him  to  meet  me  and  then  to 
learn  that  the  case  against  me  had  been  suddenly 
withdrawn. 

But  I  was  on  fire  with  curiosity. 

"  Was  Scancey  seen  in  town  this  morning  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes — oh  yes.  He  went  to  the  city  early, 
though." 

"And  Bain?" 

"  A  reporter  told  me  that  the  servants  at  the 
91 


92  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

house  informed  him  that  Mr.  Bain  had  not  been 
home  all  night." 

"  Humph !  Did  Scancey  spend  the  night  in  his 
own  home?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  he  did.  He  was  there,  but 
wouldn't  see  reporters  till  he  went  out  to  send  some 
telegrams  about  seven  o'clock  this  morning.  Then 
they  nailed  him — and  he  gave  them  a  suave  good- 
morning  and  told  them  he  wouldn't  talk  again  till 
he  saw  Bain — which  would  not  be  till  evening." 

"  And  what  about  the  woman  that  entered  Bain's 
grounds  ?  " 

"  Frankly,  I  don't  know.  She  was  probably  a 
servant  of  the  house." 

"  She  might  have  been." 

It  was  an  irritating  thing,  but  it  was  worth  study- 
ing certainly.  So  mysterious  a  move  on  the  part  of 
our  enemy  was  surely  not  without  some  very  great 
significance.  I  tried  to  get  Cole  to  reason  out  some- 
thing from  it,  but  he  was  of  the  cautious  kind  and  I 
came  finally  to  wonder  that  he  had  told  me  the  tale 
at  all.  I  made  up  my  mind  before  I  left  him, 
however,  to  follow  up  each  slightest  clue  I  could 
find,  and  when  I  went  from  his  office  I  was  bent 
upon  a  new  quest. 

I  'phoned  to  The  Hazels  first  and  got  Barnaby 
on  the  wire.  I  told  him  of  the  withdrawal  of  the 
case  against  me  and  of  Bain's  absence  from  town. 
Also  of  Scancey's  trip  to  the  city.  Further  than 
this  I  did  not  care  to  detail  over  the  wire.  I  told 


Sheer  Hazard  93 

him  I  wished  to  follow  a  clue  that  presented  itself, 
and  would  communicate  with  the  house  later. 

He  informed  me  in  turn  that  Donna  and  Hal  had 
been  told  just  the  turn  the  case  had  taken.  It  had 
seemed  best  to  himself  and  King  and  to  Doctor 
Graham  that  they  should  be  frankly  informed,  as 
they  would  be  almost  certain  to  learn  in  some  less 
agreeable  way,  if  their  friends  attempted  to  cover 
the  seriousness  of  the  case.  He  said  that  Donna 
acted  well.  Hal  had  been  excited  at  first  but  had 
become  very  much  quieter  later,  and  was  only  some- 
what too  silent  now. 

I  went  from  the  'phone  a  good  deal  depressed 
with  the  sense  of  what  must  be  the  pain  and  suffer- 
ing of  my  friends.  But  my  resolution  to  make  war 
on  Judson  Bain  by  every  means  I  could  find  was 
only  hardened  by  Barnaby's  account  of  their  quiet 
reception  of  the  attack  upon  them.  I  had  already 
started  the  town  marshal  on  a  hunt  for  Bain, 
though  I  had  little  faith  in  his  success,  since  he  had 
shown  so  little  keenness  in  looking  for  me.  I  be- 
lieved that  I  might  have  better  luck  if  I  gave  myself 
to  it,  and  a  plan  had  already  formed  itself  in  my 
mind.  Bain  had  gone  away  in  haste.  Scancey  had 
sent  telegrams.  There  were  two  things  to  put  to- 
gether, at  least.  They  might  have  no  connection. 
Also  they  might. 

I  went  down  the  street  and  inquired  casually  of 
the  first  man  I  met  for  the  telegraph  office.  It  was 
a  good  bet  that  there  was  but  one  in  town  and  so 


94  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

it  proved.  I  found  it.  What  was  more,  I  found 
a  pretty  girl  behind  the  counter  there,  ready  and  wil- 
ling to  help  me  transact  my  business,  and  I  promptly 
congratulated  myself  upon  that.  I  am  sure  she 
thought  I  admired  her — and  I  did. 

I  raised  my  hat  with  utmost  punctilious  polite- 
ness. "  Why,"  said  I,  with  some  caution,  "  you 
were  not  here  when  I  was  in  earlier." 

"  What  time?"  she  asked,  smiling  on  me  kindly. 

"  Let  me  see — about  seven,"  I  answered. 

She  shook  a  curly  head  at  me  and  laughed.  "  Not 
me,"  she  responded. 

"  That's  what  I  say — not  you,"  said  I,  trying  to 
make  the  conversation  properly  lightsome. 

"  I  don't  get  -around  here  before  eight,"  she 
vouchsafed,  and  my  first  step  was  successfully  taken. 

'  You  don't  mean  that  you  are  the  operator  here, 
do  you?  "  I  asked,  looking  about  curiously. 

"  Sure  thing — eight  till  six.  Sandy's  on  from 
seven  to  eight,  mornings,  and  six  till  ten,  nights." 

"  That  explains  it,"  said  I.  "  It  was  about  seven, 
I  think,  that  the  telegrams  were  sent." 

"  Expecting  an  answer?  "  she  asked  glibly. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  I  don't 
get  something  from  some  of  them.  It's  strange 
nothing  has  come  so  far.  I  thought  I'd  better  come 
in  and  look  at  two  or  three  to  be  sure  that  the  mean- 
ing was  quite  clear.  You  have  copies  of  them, 
haven't  you?  " 

"  Sure..    The  originals  are  all  here."    She  turned 


Sheer  Hazard  95 

to  her  files  and  drew  out  a  small  bunch  of  the  yellow 
sheets.  She  thumbed  them  over  carelessly.  "  What 
name?  "  she  asked. 

I  hesitated  an  instant,  and,  to  cover  it,  I  made 
the  first  move  that  occurred  to  me.  I  reached  for 
my  pocketbook  feigning  to  search  for  a  paper  in  it. 

"  What  name  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  beg  pardon.     Scancey." 

I  waited.  If  she  suspected,  I  could  certainly  get 
no  glimpse  of  those  telegrams.  If  not,  I  might  lay 
my  hands  on  a  clue. 

"  Scancey !  "  she  said.    "  You  ain't  Scancey." 

But  she  laughed.  What  her  mental  processes  were 
I  don't  pretend  to  know.  But  I  reached  for  the 
little  bunch  of  messages.  "  No,"  I  said,  "  I'm  not 
Scancey.  He  sent  the  telegrams.  I  just  want  to 
verify  them." 

I  drew  them  toward  me.  I  fancied  she  was  re- 
luctant to  let  them  go,  for  rules  there  are  about  such 
things,  strictly  enforced  in  larger  offices,  more  lax 
in  easy-going  little  places.  I  laughed.  "  Do  you 
think  I  look  like  Wheeler  Scancey  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  me  with  ready  cordiality. 
"  Me  ?  No,  I  don't,"  she  answered.  Then  she 
laughed  again.  "  Oh,  you !  "  she  added,  by  which 
I  inferred  that  she  concluded  I  was  joking.  I  have 
rarely  been  farther  from  it,  for  I  had  Wheeler 
Scancey's  telegrams  under  my  fingers  turning  them 
over.  There  were  four.  One  was  to  a  campaign 
manager  in  the  city  putting  off  an  appointment.  A 


96  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

second  was  to  a  politician  up-state  directing  a  meet- 
ing at  a  small  city.  The  third  was  an  order  to  a 
printer.  The  fourth — as  I  looked  eagerly  at  it  the 
girl  abruptly  put  out  her  hands  and  covered  it. 

"  Say,"  she  said  sharply,  "  you  ain't  doing  any 
verifying." 

I  looked  up  to  find  a  startled  expression  on  her 
face.  She  seemed  to  have  read  my  eagerness. 

I  turned  my  hands  deliberately  and  took  hold  of 
both  of  hers.  "  Is  that  so,  lady?  "  said  I.  "  Now 
don't — please  don't  interrupt  me.  I'm  so  interested. 
Look,"  I  added,  transferring  both  her  hands  to  one 
of  mine  and  pointing  to  the  fourth  message,  "  you've 
sent  that  one  wrong." 

She  looked.  Meantime  I  held  her  hands.  I  could 
feel  the  grit  of  office  dust  upon  them  and  was  sorry 
for  the  little  workaday  thing  with  her  "  eight  to 
six  "  and  her  gullibility  on  which  I  played.  But  I 
read  the  telegram  and  this  is  what  it  said : 

"  FRED  HENDERSON,  Cold  Spring,  Chettesworth. 
"  Chocolate  coming  up.    Spread  the  plank. 

"  SCANCEY." 

It  was  enough.  A  cipher  telegram  of  course,  and 
the  address  was  all  I  wanted — all  I  could  get,  in  fact. 
I  have  a  good  memory  when  I  can  visualize  a  thing, 
and  after  the  girl's  hands  came  down  again  upon  the 
page  I  could  still  see  Fred  Henderson,  Cold  Spring, 
Chettesworth,  as  plainly  as  before. 


Sheer  Hazard  97 

The  little  clerk  looked  at  me  reproachfully  when 
I  had  let  go  her  fingers,  and  she  seemed  not  a  little 
dismayed,  till  I  carefully  consulted  my  pocketbook 
again.  Then  she  felt  a  trifle  better. 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  my  mistake.  You've  got  it  all 
right,  I  guess." 

"  Did  you  honestly  want  to  verify? "  she  asked. 

"  What  makes  you  so  suspicious  ?  "  I  queried  in 
turn.  "  Isn't  it  all  right  for  a  man  to  look  over  his 
telegrams  after  he's  sent  them?" 

"Of  course,  but "  she  began. 

"  Don't  but,"  said  I  vivaciously.  "  It's  a  terrific 
habit." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you're  all  right,"  she  said  suddenly, 
laughing  and  taking  the  pad  of  telegrams  from  the 
counter.  "  You  ain't  a  crook,  I  know  that." 

"  No,"  said  I.    "  I'm  not  a  crook,  Geraldine." 

I  couldn't  feel  like  one  either,  despite  my  duplicity, 
as  I  left  her  with  a  gallant  bow,  and  laid  a  straight 
course  for  the  little  railway  station. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Chettesworth  ?  "  was  my  ques- 
tion at  the  agent's  brass-barred  window. 

"  Seventy-two  miles,"  came  the  answer,  and  it 
was  no  gushing  maiden  now  but  a  square- jawed,  not 
over- joyful  looking  young  chap  who  seemed  more 
or  less  resentful  of  my  presence  in  the  place. 

"And  Cold  Spring?"  I  hazarded,  uncertain  to 
what  the  name  might  apply. 

He  scowled.    "  Well  ?  "  he  said. 

"  What  is  Cold  Spring?  "  I  asked. 


98  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  It's  a  horse-farm,"  he  answered,  with  a  look  of 
pain  at  being  parted  from  so  much  information  at 
a  time. 

I  like  to  bait  his  kind,  too,  but  I  had  no  time. 
"  When  can  I  get  a  train  to  Chettesworth  ?  "  I  pur- 
sued. 

"  At  noon — twelve-ten,"  he  grunted. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said  meekly. 

It  was  then  eleven  and  I  wandered  out  to  the 
street  again.  I  had  formed  no  certain  plan  of 
action.  I  had  been  proceeding  on  impulse.  But  I 
had  half  made  up  my  mind  to  take  the  seventy-mile 
run  to  Chettesworth  on  the  chance  that  that  place 
had  been  the  goal  of  Judson  Bain  the  night  before. 
If  I  could  find  him,  I  would  put  the  nearest  officer 
after  him,  to  bring  him  back  on  my  charge  against 
him. 

One  more  thing  was  in  my  mind  to  do,  and  that 
I  scarcely  knew  how  to  accomplish.  The  suspicion 
that  had  leaped  into  my  brain  with  Cole's  story 
might  be  wholly  absurd,  but  I  had  a  decided  inclina- 
tion to  the  theory  that  the  strange  actions  on  the 
part  of  Bain  and  Scancey  which  the  young  lawyer 
had  observed  might  easily  be  connected  with  the 
inability  of  Barnaby  and  his  agents  to  find  the  girl 
whose  name  had  been  involved  in  the  plot  against 
Fenelon.  I  wished  immediately  that  I  had  antici- 
pated the  need  of  information  about  her  before  I 
left  The  Hazels. 

There  was  only  one  sensible  course  under  the 


Sheer  Hazard  99 

circumstances,  and  that  was  to  call  up  Barnaby 
again.  I  disliked  to  make  so  much  talk  over  the 
telephone,  but  I  saw  no  other  way;  so  I  used  the 
wire  again,  going  into  a  local  drug  store  for  the 
purpose,  and  was  lucky  in  getting  the  shrewd  lawyer 
promptly. 

"  This  is  Randall  again,"  I  said  to  him.  "  Does 
Bain  own  a  horse-farm  at  Cold  Spring,  Chettes- 
worth?" 

"  No,"  answered  Barnaby,  fi  but  Curly  Conrad 
does." 

This  puzzled  me  for  an  instant,  but  I  dropped  it 
for  the  other  inquiry.  "What  is  the  name  of  the 
girl  who  was  mentioned  in  the  letters — the  lost  let- 
ters ?  "  I  asked,  covering  the  inquiry  as  much  as  I 
could  in  apprehension  of  listeners  on  the  wire. 

"  Luella  Westfall,"  came  his  answer  quite  clear. 

"  Where  can  I  get  information — safely  get  it — 
about  her?  " 

He  paused  a  moment.  "  She  lived  with  her 
mother  on  Kent  Street,"  he  said.  "  But — wait — 
ask  the  Reverend  Mr.  Vernon  about  her.  He  can 
tell  you  all  you  want  to  know  and  he's  safe." 

"  Good,"  said  I.  "  I'm  going  up  to  Chettesworth. 
I'll  send  word  later." 

I  hung  up  the  receiver.  As  I  left  the  booth  and 
stepped  out  into  the  store  I  noticed  a  clerk  behind 
the  counter  who  looked  at  me  curiously.  As  I 
passed  on  I  wondered  if  he  could  have  overheard 
my  talk  through  the  thin  walls  of  the  booth,  and  how 


ioo  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

much  he  could  guess  from  it  if  he  had.  There  was 
no  remedy  for  what  was  done,  however,  and  I  did 
not  look  a  second  time  at  him.  I  remembered  him 
as  a  tall,  pale  fellow  with  very  light  blue  eyes,  and 
set  him  down  as  a  nonentity  so  far  as  our  affairs 
were  concerned. 

Then  I  called  at  the  house  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Vernon,  which  I  learned  by  inquiry  was  but  a  few 
blocks  away,  and  met  that  gentleman.  He  responded 
to  my  inquiries  readily  when  I  mentioned  Barnaby's 
name. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said  of  the  girl.  "  Yes,  I  have 
known  her  and  her  mother  for  years.  She  grew 
up  here.  She  is  a  very  pretty,  frivolous  little  thing 
with  mostly  vanity  for  a  character.  Her  mother  is 
a  very  strange  woman  about  whom  nobody  seems  to 
know  much.  She  and  the  daughter  both  worked 
till  recently  at  an  odd  trade — painting  fish-bait,  arti- 
ficial minnows  and  the  like,  for  a  local  firm.  They 
have  made  a  good  living.  The  girl's  recent  trouble 
you  evidently  know  about.  She  was  in  a  city  hos- 
pital till  about  a  month  ago,  and  her  child  died  there. 
Martin  Fenelon  is  known  to  have  befriended  her 
and  to  have  paid  some  at  least  of  her  bills.  That 
is  what  started  the  stories,  I  suppose,  against  Fene- 
lon. I  don't  believe  a  word  against  him,  but  the 
girl  has  been  close-mouthed  about  her  trouble.  She 
won't  tell  anything  to  help  or  hurt  a  soul.  Now,  I 
understand,  she  has  run  away." 

"When?" 


Sheer  Hazard  101 

"  This  morning — or  last  night." 

"Alone?" 

"  So  far  as  we  know." 

"  Does  her  mother  know  anything  about  her  ?  " 

"  Her  mother  is  the  most  taciturn  person  I  have 
ever  known.  She  will  not  even  answer  ordinary 
questions." 

"  Curious,"  said  I.  "  It  is  also  strange,  isn't  it, 
that  the  girl  should  run  away  now — just  at  this 
particular  time?" 

"  Of  course.  But  do  you  know "  The  min- 
ister hesitated.  He  was  a  kindly  old  fellow,  white 
of  hair,  with  a  good  blue  eye.  "  Do  you  know,  I 
have  a  feeling  that  the  poor  child  has  been  driven 
away.  She  showed  little  or  no  shame  at  first  over 
her  misfortune.  She  seemed  hardly  to  understand 
that  it  was  a  shame  to  her.  Then  suddenly  within 
the  past  few  days  only,  since  she  came  home,  she 
has  shut  herself  up  at  her  mother's  house,  to  see 
no  one.  And  she  and  her  mother  have  both  been 
absolutely  silent  to  all  questions." 

I  considered.  Here,  too,  lay  a  curious  complica- 
tion. "  You  don't  know  the  previous  history  of  the 
mother?  "  I  asked. 

"  No.  She  came  here  from  the  West  six  or  eight 
years  ago  and  she  and  Lou,  as  every  one  called  the 
girl,  have  lived  a  workaday  life  ever  since.  The 
girl  has  been  a  gay  little  flirt,  running  about  with  all 
sorts  of  fellows,  but  I  never  thought  there  was  harm 
in  her.  She's  to  be  pitied." 


IO2  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  liked  the  charity  of  the  old  fellow.  It  was  easy 
to  see  the  sort  he  was — gentle,  kind,  generous,  un- 
judging. 

"  Will  you  describe  the  girl  to  me  ?  "  I  asked.  "  It 
is  important  that  we  should  trace  her  and  I  never 
saw  her." 

"  She  is  small,"  he  answered,  "  and  quite  fair. 
She  is  pretty — with  the  pert  prettiness  of  the  turned- 
up-nose  sort.  She  has  blue  eyes — the  baby  eyes  that 
seem  to  appeal  so  strongly  to  men.  She  is  always 
half  laughing — or  usually.  I've  never  seen  her  very 
serious.  She  has  a  rather  long  upper  lip  that  sug- 
gests the  Irish  and  her  eyelashes  are  long  and  curl 
up  like  a  wax  doll's." 

I  looked  at  the  man  in  wonder.  Such  observation 
was  rare,  and  such  a  description  of  the  runaway  girl 
I  could  hardly  have  expected  to  get.  I  spoke  my 
thoughts.  But  he  only  smiled. 

"  I've  known  the  girl  a  long  time,  you  under- 
stand," he  said  simply. 

I  left  the  old  gentleman  with  a  feeling  of  high 
respect  for  him  and  with  quite  a  different  attitude 
toward  the  girl  in  this  case.  I  wondered,  with  fresh 
and  deeper  suspicions  of  Judson  Bain,  what  wide- 
spread trouble  he  might  be  sowing  in  other  lives 
besides  those  in  which  I  was  most  deeply  concerned. 
Unscrupulous  brute  he  was. 

It  was  nearing  the  time  of  the  train  for  Chettes- 
worth  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go.  I  stopped 
at  a  restaurant  for  a  sandwich  and  then  went  over 


Sheer  Hazard  103 

to  the  station  again.  I  sent  another  telegram  to 
my  lawyers  in  the  city  advising  them  that  it  might  be 
several  days  before  I  arrived  there,  and  I  laughed 
as  I  thought  of  their  probable  astonishment  over 
a  young  man  who  was  so  tardy  to  take  possession 
of  so  bounteous  an  inheritance.  But  I  could  not 
concern  myself  much  for  my  money  then.  It  was 
mine — and  there  was  no  hurry.  In  twenty-four 
hours  I  had  found  interest  in  something  else  that 
Fortune  might  give  if  she  chose. 

It  was  an  uneventful  ride,  that  seventy-odd  miles. 
It  was  rather  tiresome  because  of  the  slow  local 
train  I  was  compelled  to  take.  When  I  arrived 
I  found  Chettesworth  a  busy  place  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills  that  I  vaguely  knew  became  quite  respectable 
mountains  a  little  further  north  in  the  state.  It  was 
a  pretty  location  on  that  April  afternoon,  when  the 
sun  was  bringing  out  the  green  things  everywhere 
at  a  pace  that  was  almost  perceptible. 

I  had  left  Hazelhurst  at  noon  and  it  was  after 
three  when  I  stepped  down  on  the  station  platform. 
I  learned  promptly  that  Cold  Spring  Farm  was  six 
miles  back  in  the  country  and  that  I  must  drive  or 
walk  thither,  if  I  would  go.  I  considered  this  detail 
with  some  care,  too,  for  it  might  be  worth  my  while 
to  preserve  the  advantage  of  being  as  little  known 
to  the  people  of  the  town  as  possible.  No  one  but 
Judson  Bain  himself  would  now  recognize  me  on 
sight.  My  first  object  was,  indeed,  to  see  him — 
simply  to  set  my  eyes  upon  him  for  the  purpose  of 


IO4  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

assuring  myself  that  he  was  here.  Then  I  could 
act  as  circumstances  might  guide.  But  I  had  a 
feeling  that  if  Bain  were  here  at  all  he  might  keep 
the  matter  quite  dark.  Why  should  he  have  come 
up  here  at  all  at  this  time  except  upon  some  errand 
that  would  not  bear  publication  ? 

But  an  idea  occurred  to  me,  as  I  walked  up  the 
street  of  the  town,  that  offered  possibilities  and  at 
the  same  time  appealed  to  my  love  of  the  adven- 
turous. Why  let  Judson  Bain  have  opportunity 
even  to  learn  by  chance  that  I  was  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ?  Why  not  disguise  ?  Why  not  a  deeper  game 
than  the  simple  one  I  had  planned?  I  jumped  at 
the  idea  with  satisfaction.  It  would  go  hard  with 
me  if  I  did  not  make  complications  for  Judson  Bain 
if  I  found  him  at  Cold  Spring  Farm. 

My  mind  worked  out  the  details  rapidly.  I  would 
first  find  a  place  for  headquarters — a  boarding- 
house.  An  inquiry  at  the  station  sufficed  for  that. 
I  was  directed  to  "  the  best  in  town  "  kept  by  a 
pleasant- faced  German  woman  who  looked  clean 
and  who  provided  me  with  a  room  that  was  good 
enough.  I  told  her  I  was  going  to  do  some  shoot- 
ing in  the  hills  and  would  take  her  room  for  a  week. 
Then  I  went  out,  bought  a  cheap  gun  and  case,  a 
cheaper  grip,  and  a  suit  of  ready-made  corduroys, 
rough  and  heavy.  I  secured  from  my  clothing 
dealer  a  canvas  shooting-coat  and  a  corduroy  cap, 
too,  that  were  shop-worn  and  that  he  was  glad  to 
get  rid  of.  I  was  equally  glad  to  get  them,  for  they 


Sheer  Hazard  105 

would  not  look  too  new.    And  I  lugged  all  of  my 
new  possessions  to  my  lodging. 

Two  hours  later,  just  as  dusk  was  falling  at  the 
end  of  the  balmy  spring  day,  I  was  asking  the  barn- 
boss  at  Cold  Spring  Farm — a  big,  handsome,  well- 
kept  place — for  a  spot  in  which  to  sleep  for  the 
night.  And  I  got  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  COMPANION  OF  LUCK 

THERE  was  a  big,  old-fashioned  house  at  Cold 
Spring  that  loomed  huge  in  the  early  dark- 
ness of  the  April  evening.  There  was  a  great  cluster 
of  barns  and  stables,  with  electric  lights  at  their 
doors,  but  with  deep  dark  spaces  between  and  wide 
dark  fields  behind  them.  There  were  woods  within 
a  short  distance  on  two  sides.  There  were  a  dozen 
hands  who  occupied  quarters  apart  from  the  house, 
and  a  red-faced  Irish  boss  who  spoke  in  a  rough 
brogue  and  was  ready  with  hospitality — for  a  con- 
sideration. 

Some  of  the  conditions  I  liked.  I  told  the  boss 
I  was  gunning  for  some  special  sorts  of  specimens 
I  hoped  to  find  in  the  hills — it  was  scientific  gun- 
ning, I  carefully  explained — and  that  I  cared  noth- 
ing for  ordinary  game.  He  regarded  me  with  the 
indulgent  patronage  such  men  usually  exhibit  for 
the  fellow  who  betrays  the  slightest  leaning  towards 
a  science.  What  was  much  more  important,  how- 
ever, his  attitude  gave  me  freedom  of  the  place  for 
the  evening  and  night  and  opened  opportunity. 

I  ate  supper  with  the  men.  To  remain  as  incon- 
spicuous as  possible  I  talked  little  and  listened  much. 

106 


A  Companion  of  Luck  107 

Fortunately  there  were  three  horsemen — buyers  or 
sellers — temporarily  at  the  place,  also  lodging  in  the 
tenant-house  to  which  I  had  been  assigned,  so  that 
I  was  not  the  only  stranger.  Moreover,  the  men 
of  the  place  had  little  interest  in  my  affairs.  I 
found  opportunity  to  retire  to  my  room  early,  there- 
fore— and  to  get  away  alone  upon  my  initial  under- 
taking under  cover  of  the  night. 

It  was  simple  enough  to  go  to  the  outlying  house 
where  I  had  deposited  my  gun  and  pack,  to  enter 
my  room  and  lock  it.  It  was  a  second  floor  cham- 
ber, a  fact  I  regretted.  But  its  window  was  over 
a  lean-to  at  the  back  of  the  house  and  faced  the 
open  fields.  I  turned  on  my  incandescent  and  drew 
my  shade  for  a  time.  Then  I  extinguished  the  light, 
and,  opening  the  window,  climbed  out  and  down  the 
lower  roof  and  dropped  to  the  ground. 

It  was  still  early  and  no  one  who  was  to  be 
house-mate  of  mine  had  come  to  the  place.  There 
was  the  sound  of  hilarity  in  the  building  where  I  had 
left  the  men  and  there  seemed  to  be  perfect  quiet 
over  the  wide  yards.  The  big  house  had  glowing 
windows  visible  at  several  points,  but  there  was  no 
noise  corning  from  open  sashes  to  indicate  that  there 
were  guests  there. 

I  circled  the  house  first.  I  was  a  bit  apprehensive 
that  there  might  be  a  dog  or  two  about,  but  as  none 
awoke  at  my  first  round  of  the  place,  I  let  that 
notion  go.  I  kept  out  of  the  range  of  lights  and 
spied — yes,  that's  what  I  was  there  for — spied  at 


io8  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

what  I  could  see.  I  walked  on  the  soft  grass  of 
the  lawns — lawns  there  were  immediately  about  the 
house.  I  nearly  fell  into  a  little  artificial  pond  back 
of  one  wing,  but  avoided  that  accident  by  good 
luck. 

But  my  early  discoveries  were  practically  noth- 
ing. It  was  as  I  was  making  my  second  trip  about 
at  closer  range  with  a  thought  to  climb  upon  the 
wide  dark  veranda,  and  try  for  a  peep  at  the  windows 
from  that  vantage  ground,  that  things  began  to 
happen.  I  was  just  at  the  very  corner  of  the  great 
front  porch,  indeed,  and  was  contemplating  a  vault 
up  to  the  floor  of  it  when  I  heard  a  step  and  voices 
of  men  at  a  door  near  at  hand,  and,  before  I  could 
calculate  chances  or  think  whether  or  not  I  was  in 
a  safe  position,  two  men  came  to  the  rail  at  the 
end  of  the  porch  almost  directly  above  me  and 
paused  together  there,  smoking  and  talking. 

I  could  see  the  glow  of  their  cigars.  I  could 
smell  the  fragrance  of  fine  tobacco.  With  two  steps 
I  could  have  placed  myself  where  I  could  have 
touched  their  knees  between  the  open  spindle-work 
of  the  railing.  And  I  had  found  one  thing  for 
which  I  had  been  looking — adventure — for  the  first 
voice  I  heard  distinctly  was  unmistakably  Judson 
Bain's. 

I  stood  beside  the  wide  pillar  at  the  corner  of 
the  porch.  It  was  pitch  dark  at  the  spot  and  that 
was  why  I  had  chosen  it.  There  were  some  shreds 
of  vines  on  a  slight  trellis  close  to  the  pillar  and 


A  Companion  of  Luck  109 

they  were  a  trifle  of  protection  to  me.  But  either 
of  the  two  men  above  could  easily  have  seen  me 
had  he  been  moved  to  come  to  the  corner  and  bend 
over  the  rail.  The  space  under  the  porch  into  which 
I  thought  I  might  creep  I  instantly  found  to  be 
latticed.  I  had  no  choice  but  to  stand  where  I  was 
or  attract  dangerous  suspicion  by  abruptly  moving 
off  into  the  darkness.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  stay. 

They  were  talking  of  horses,  the  two  on  the  porch, 
at  first.  What  they  said  is  unimportant  now.  I 
was  not  interested  in  it  then.  But  it  was  only  a 
moment  so,  and  then  came  things  that  stirred  me 
quickly  enough  to  huge  excitement. 

"  How'd  the  girl  act  to-night  ? "  asked  Bain 
abruptly  in  his  big  hoarse  bass. 

"  Better,"  answered  the  other.  His  voice  was 
even  and  smooth  and  he  seemed  to  be  a  younger 
man  than  the  other. 

"Was  she  scared?" 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  where  she  is  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Think  better  not  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Humph !  "  There  was  anxiety  in  the  tone  of 
the  big  man.  "  It  was  a  fool  thing  to  bring  her 
out  here." 

"  No,  it  wasn't." 

"  It  sure  was.  She'd  have  gone  anywhere  if  I'd 
paid  her  and  told  her  to  git." 


i  io  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"Would  she?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  might  have  gone  to  Barnaby.  What  would 
stop  her  ?  " 

"  She'd  be  afraid  of  me." 

"  Did  she  act  afraid  of  you  when  she  asked  for 
money  ?  " 

"  No;  but  I  can  scare  her." 

The  younger  man  laughed,  a  nasty  little  grunt  or 
two.  "Go  up  and  try  it  now,"  he  responded. 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  said  Bain. 

"  I  know  her." 

"  Have  I  got  to  keep  her  here?  " 

"  What  else  can  you  do  ?  Do  you  want  Barnaby 
to  have  a  chance  at  her  evidence?" 

"  I'll  buy  her  up  solid." 

"  That  may  do — but  you'll  pay  well  now." 

"Was  she  hurt?" 

"  I  think  not ;  but  it  was  a  rough  ride." 

A  light  began  to  dawn  on  me.  Of  course  it  was 
obvious  of  whom  they  talked.  It  began  to  be  plain 
how  Luella  Westfall  had  come  to  Cold  Spring. 

"  Do  you  think  any  one  could  have  seen  us  ? " 
asked  Bain. 

"  Some  one  might,  of  course.  I  don't  believe 
any  one  did." 

"  Then  what  about  this  telephone  message?  " 

The  big  man  coughed  a  little  at  the  end  of  his 
query  and  the  other  paused  before  replying.  I  stood 
marveling  at  my  luck  in  hearing  this  much, 


A  Companion  of  Luck  in 

and  amazed  that  my  instinctive  desire  to  follow 
Bain  had  been  apparently  so  well  based.  My  con- 
ceit of  my  own  perspicacity  began  to  rise  as  I  lis- 
tened for  the  answer  to  the  last  question.  It  came 
presently. 

"  Do  you  know  the  fellow  who  'phoned?  " 

"Sure." 

"Do  you  know  the  man  he  described?" 

"  No." 

"Couldn't  be  Barnaby?" 

"  No." 

"Nor  that  fellow,  King?" 

"  No." 

"  Some  detective?  " 

"  Possibly." 

"  Didn't  he  give  the  name  at  all  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Is  there  anybody  else  who  has  any  interest  in 
following  you  up  ?  " 

"  Not  now." 

"  What  does  that  mean?  " 

"  Why,  that  there  isn't  anybody,  of  course." 

"  Oh." 

I  could  have  laughed,  not  at  Bain's  belief  that  no 
one  but  Barnaby  or  his  agents  would  have  an  object 
in  following  him,  but  at  the  other's  attitude  toward 
the  man's  expression  "  not  now."  It  was  clear 
enough  that  both  recalled  some  other  occasion  when 
there  might  have  been  less  certainty. 

They  were  quiet  a  moment  and  the  sweet  smoke 


ii2  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

of  their  cigars  drifted  down  and  across  to  me. 
Presently  Bain  spoke  again. 

"  I'll  have  everybody  looking  out  for  suspicious 
arrivals,"  he  said,  and  I  sobered  quickly,  with  my 
mind  swiftly  reviewing  what  had  been  said.  I  had 
not  yet  caught  the  clue,  however. 

"  That's  wise,"  said  the  other  man.  "  And  do 
you  intend  to  see  the  girl  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  may  as  well." 

They  moved  away  from  the  rail  and  loitered 
along  the  porch.  I  wanted  to  follow  and  catch 
every  word,  but  I  had  heard  more  than  I  could  have 
dreamed  of  hoping  for  already,  and  the  risk  would 
be  too  great.  What  to  do  with  my  information 
was  not  an  easy  question  to  answer,  but  as  I  slid 
off  among  the  trees  again,  I  turned  this  swiftly  in 
my  mind. 

The  girl  Luella  West  fall  was  without  doubt  in 
this  big  house  somewhere  a  prisoner.  That  seemed 
clear.  I  had  no  means  of  knowing  in  what  room 
she  was.  The  man  with  Bain  had  used  the  ex- 
pression "  up "  in  advising  Bain  to  "  go  up  and 
try  "  to  frighten  her.  That  indicated  second  floor 
at  least.  In  lieu  of  better  to  do,  I  looked  up  at  such 
second-floor  windows  as  were  lighted.  They  did 
not  promise  much. 

Bain  and  his  companion  were  still  in  the  porch. 
I  could  see  their  figures  but  I  could  not  again  ap- 
proach them.  They  were  standing  in  the  path  of 
light  from  the  open  front  door  now  and  I  could 


A  Companion  of  Luck  113 

make  out  that  the  smaller  man  was  apparently  little 
more  than  a  boy — rather  slight  and  stooped,  and 
that  he  had  dark  and  very  bushy  hair.  I  could  not 
make  out  any  of  his  features  at  the  distance.  I  also 
stood  still,  however,  in  the  midst  of  the  almost  bare 
shrubbery,  and  looked  and  listened.  Presently  the 
two  went  inside. 

What  next  to  do  I  hardly  knew.  I  wanted  to 
enter  the  house  but  I  could  hardly  hope  to  do  that 
successfully,  whatever  stratagem  I  might  invent,  so 
long  as  Bain  was  in  it.  I  could  think  of  a  number 
of  plans  I  might  try  upon  servants,  but  the  chances 
of  learning  much,  without  being  referred  to  the 
master  of  the  house,  were  slender. 

I  turned  to  circle  the  house  again,  looking  once 
more  at  the  upper  windows.  I  reasoned  that  any 
room  in  which  the  girl  might  be  imprisoned  would 
have  a  light,  but  closed  shutters.  I  looked  for  such 
a  window.  I  crept  quietly  among  the  trees  and 
bushes,  and  then  out  upon  the  wide  lawn  again, 
where  it  lay  quite  black  under  a  cloudy,  moonless 
sky.  I  had  no  fear  that  any  one  even  a  few  feet 
away  would  see  me  and  I  could  prowl  to  my  heart's 
content.  Even  if  I  were  discovered  here  by  one 
of  the  men  I  could  easily  explain  my  presence  by 
some  word  about  fresh  air  or  a  search  for  drinking 
water.  But  I  preferred  not  to  be  caught  at  this 
game. 

It  seemed  rather  a  fool's  quest  to  look  for  a  win- 
dow that  might  hide  a  prisoner  in  such  a  house  full 


114  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

of  windows  as  that.  But  I  was  beginning  to  be- 
lieve that  luck  was  with  me.  All  sorts  of  wild 
schemes  which  had  comparatively  little  except  their 
audacity  to  recommend  them  began  to  climb  up  into 
my  brain.  I  thought  of  going  to  one  of  the  back 
doors  of  the  place  and  entering,  with  the  purpose 
of  seizing  the  first  opportunity  of  climbing  to  the 
second  floor,  with  no  excuse  but  an  inquiry  for 
"  Fred  Henderson  "  or  "  Curly  Conrad  "  ready  for 
glib  utterance  and  depending  on  sheer  assurance  to 
carry  me  far  enough  to  learn  something  worth  while. 
I  could  imagine  a  startled  maid  answering  questions 
if  I  could  carry  the  bluff  that  I  was  in  the  house 
because  of  some  secret  service  for  Bain  himself. 
I  could  imagine  quick  action  in  deserted  hallways 
if  maids  to  startle  proved  scarce.  I  could  taste  the 
joy  of  the  excitement  of  it,  for  I  loved  adventure 
and  my  physical  strength  made  me  less  fearful  of 
punishment  than  I  might  have  been. 

I  went  so  far  as  to  choose  a  door  that  I  might 
care  to  try  for  an  entrance  and  was  more  than  half 
seriously  considering  a  definite  plan  when,  suddenly, 
as  if  luck  were  determined  to  be  my  companion  for 
the  night,  that  very  portal  opened  and  a  man  came 
out  and  stood  on  the  step.  I  was  on  the  lawn 
probably  fifty  feet  from  where  he  stood,  with  the 
dark  background  of  the  trees  behind  me.  He  stood 
on  the  steps,  with  a  faint  reflected  light  from  some 
inner  room  in  the  hall  at  his  back. 

As  he  paused,  too,  a  second  figure  appeared  and 


A  Companion  of  Luck  115 

stood  beside  him.  Then  he  spoke  and  I  knew  him 
for  Bain  again. 

"  I'll  be  cautious,"  he  said  loudly  enough  for  me 
to  hear  across  the  little  space  in  the  quiet  of  the 
night. 

"Of  course.  Don't  spend  much  time  over  it 
either,"  said  the  other,  who  was  unmistakably  the 
same  man  who  had  been  in  the  porch  with  him. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  Bain. 

He  stepped  down  and  I  heard  his  foot  scuff  on 
the  gravel.  Quite  ignorant  of  what  might  now  be 
in  the  wind,  I  waited  to  see  what  direction  he 
would  take.  He  started  toward  the  barns.  I  was 
doubtful  whether  I  ought  to  follow  him  or  whether 
this  very  opportunity  was  made  for  my  entrance  to 
the  house,  when  the  man  at  the  door  called  after 
him  a  sentence  that  decided  me. 

"  Don't  you  think  you'd  better  have  a  light?  "  he 
asked  with  a  half -guarded  tone  but  loud  enough  to 
have  been  heard  to  the  stables. 

"  No,"  answered  Bain,  "  I  know  the  path  up  there 
as  well  as  I  know  the  walk  to  the  gate." 

The  thing  roused  a  new  curiosity  in  me.  I 
wavered  as  to  the  wisest  course,  and  then  on  im- 
pulse born  of  seeing  my  enemy  and  Hal's  disappear- 
ing in  the  darkness  alone,  I  followed  him.  I  ran 
over  the  grass  lightly.  He  kept  to  a  gravel  path 
that  led  to  the  big  drive  before  the  main  horse- 
barn.  There  he  turned  and  passed  the  front  of  the 
dark  building  and  rounded  its  corner.  He  plunged 


n6  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

into  absolute  blackness  here,  but  I  followed,  circling 
off  to  the  right  alongside  a  low  tool-house  to  keep 
from  getting  the  lights  of  house  or  yard  behind 
me.  I  was  guided  by  the  sound  of  his  steps  after 
we  entered  the  space  between  the  buildings  and  fol- 
lowed as  lightly  as  I  could.  Once  he  stopped  and 
I  was  certain  he  had  heard  me,  till  I  caught  the  click 
of  a  gate  latch  and  knew  he  was  letting  himself  out 
of  the  yard. 

I  pressed  on  hastily  then,  found  the  gate  and 
passed  it  without  noise.  I  discovered  his  figure 
again  on  a  rise  of  ground,  dimly  visible  against  the 
dull  sky.  Then  I  stumbled  into  a  well-worn  path 
that  he  was  evidently  following  and  my  way  became 
easier.  I  followed  him  as  closely  as  I  dared,  and 
soon  became  certain  that  he  was  making  his  way 
up  toward  the  nearer  hills.  It  was  interesting  work. 
What  could  be  his  purpose  I  could  not  guess,  but  I 
had  a  mind  to  give  him  a  trick  out  there  in  the 
darkness  that  might  make  him  think,  and  I  strove  to 
formulate  a  plan  as  I  crept  on  behind  him.  Only 
occasionally  could  I  see  him  at  all,  and  then  very 
indistinctly.  But  I  could  keep  track  of  him  easily 
because  of  the  constantly  repeated  little  throaty 
cough  he  emitted — a  smoker's  cough.  I  was  grate- 
ful, too,  to  whatever  star  was  mine  at  the  moment 
for  that. 

The  path  led  through  a  meadow,  then  along  the 
side  of  a  noisy  little  brook,  across  a  small  bridge 
and  up  a  steeper  bank  on  the  farther  side.  Then  we 


A  Companion  of  Luck  117 

came  to  a  stiff  ascent  and  I  had  difficulty  in  follow- 
ing without  sounds,  for  the  gravel  rolled  noisily 
from  under  foot  at  each  step.  The  noise  he  himself 
made,  however,  seemed  to  cover  mine  when  I  could 
not  keep  to  the  sod.  But  when  we  reached  the 
more  level  ground  above,  I  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  the  broad,  dark  back  of  my  man  plodding 
steadily  on  without  the  least  appearance  of  alarm. 
Why  should  he  be  alarmed,  indeed,  on  his  friend's 
land  with  no  thought  of  an  enemy  at  hand?  I 
laughed  in  my  soul  at  the  idea  that  he  was  himself 
guiding  me  to  some  unsuspected  secret  of  his  that 
might  give  me  a  hold  upon  him  under  which  he 
would  be  forced  to  close  his  fight  against  my 
friends. 

We  came  to  a  little  thicket  of  woods  after  passing 
the  field  about  the  stream.  There  I  entered  after 
him  more  cautiously  again,  but  still  eager,  and  fol- 
lowed by  sound  once  more.  He  walked  but  a  few 
steps,  however,  in  the  deep  shadow  under  the  trees 
before  he  stopped.  I  had  pressed  more  closely  upon 
him  here  than  I  had  meant  and  I  was  very  near 
indeed — scarcely  a  dozen  feet  back  upon  his  path — 
when  the  abrupt  cessation  of  his  footsteps  warned 
me  to  stop.  And  in  a  moment  the  absolute  silence 
of  the  whole  countryside  seemed  to  flood  in  over  us 
like  water  that  quenches  live  coals. 

If  I  had  not  known  Judson  Bain  was  there  in  the 
darkness  ahead  of  me  I  would  not  have  thought  a 
human  being  could  be  within  miles,  perhaps,  so 


ii8  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

quiet  was  it.  Imagine,  then,  how  I  started  when  the 
man's  heavy  voice  suddenly  boomed  out  of  the  si- 
lence and  the  gloom. 

"Well?  "he  said. 

I  ceased  to  breathe,  I  think.  It  was  not  so  much 
that  I  feared  him.  I  was  more  than  a  match  for  him 
physically,  unless  he  was  armed;  but  the  surprise 
of  it  was  huge.  He  seemed  to  have  discovered  sud- 
denly that  some  one  was  on  his  trail  and  was  turn- 
ing to  bay.  Still,  I  could  not  believe  that  he  had 
heard  me  now  when  he  had  failed  to  discover  me 
on  the  hillside.  I  stood  still.  And  then  almost  im- 
mediately he  spoke  again  and  I  discovered  that  his 
words  were  not  for  me. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  be  sensible  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  was  nonplussed  for  a  moment.  But  presently 
the  light  of  understanding  began  to  dawn  upon  me. 

"  I've  come  to  talk  to  you,"  the  man  went  on. 
"  Are  you  tired  of  being  shut  up  here?  " 

I  could  hear  no  answer  of  any  kind  whatever  to 
his  queries.  I  wondered  what  sort  of  place  we  had 
come  to.  A  moment  later,  however,  I  heard  the 
sound  of  a  lock  or  a  bolt  in  a  wooden  door — one 
of  the  unmistakable  sounds  of  life,  like  the  creak  of 
a  shoe  or  a  clink  of  china.  I  had  a  swift  mental 
vision  of  a  house  here  in  the  woods  and  instantly 
I  knew  to  my  own  complete  satisfaction  who  must 
be  the  person  who  was  expected  to  be  "  tired  of 
being  shut  up  here."  Here,  then,  was  the  real  mean- 
ing of  the  phrase  I  had  construed  to  indicate  a 


A  Companion  of  Luck  119 

prison  in  a  second  floor  room  at  the  big  house.  It 
was  a  prison  in  a  house  or  a  hut  on  the  wooded  hill- 
side— as  lonely  a  spot  as  could  have  been  picked 
within  ready  reach  of  Cold  Spring. 

I  waited.  I  heard  the  creak  of  heavy  hinges,  then 
the  hasty  scratching  of  a  match.  And  then  a  yellow 
light  flared  up  and  I  saw  Bain's  fat  face  and  pudgy 
hands  illumined  in  it. 

He  stepped  forward  immediately  into  the  interior 
of  what  seemed  to  be  a  small  log-house.  The  door, 
I  had  time  to  see,  was  a  stout  oaken  one  with  an  out- 
side wooden  bar  and  a  heavy  iron  bolt  upon  it.  The 
man  closed  it,  however,  almost  immediately,  himself 
inside,  and  the  gloom  was  as  great  about  me  as 
before. 

I  stepped  cautiously  forward  listening.  I  trod 
with  utmost  care  only  in  the  well-worn  path,  setting 
each  foot  down  with  extreme  deliberation.  No 
sound  came  immediately  from  the  hut  and  I  feared 
I  was  missing  something  of  value.  But  when  I 
reached  a  spot  some  six  feet  from  the  door  I  heard 
the  man's  voice  again  and  saw  a  fresh  light  through 
the  chinks  about  the  door. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  be  sensible  ?  "  was  what  he 
asked  again. 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Better  talk  up  and  do  what  I  want  you  to.  You 
won't  regret  it." 

Silence. 

"  Come,  come !    Don't  be  a  fool." 


I2O  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

Absolute  lack  of  reply  or  sound  of  any  sort.  I 
marveled  at  the  stamina  of  this  girl  who  dared  give 
back  such  treatment  to  the  man  who  was  her  captor, 
after  an  experience  of  being  shut  up  out  here,  even 
for  a  brief  time  after  nightfall. 

"You're  an  obstinate  little  devil,  aren't  you?" 
said  Bain.  Then  as  no  reply  came  to  this  he  began 
suddenly  to  laugh.  "  You  know  what  you  are  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  You're  a  plain  common  fool.  Don't 
want  money?  Don't  want  freedom,  eh?  Want  to 
sleep  out  here  and  go  hungry?  How  do  you  like 
the  spooks  of  the  woods  for  company?  Wouldn't 
you  like  a  mattress  to  bunk  on  ?  Or  some  drinking 
water?" 

He  paused  again,  but  his  words  elicited  no  more 
response  than  before.  My  blood  was  growing  hot 
again  at  the  mean  cruelty  of  the  man.  The  idea  of 
such  treatment  as  this  accorded  to  any  woman,  who- 
ever or  whatever  she  might  be,  in  a  civilized  land, 
was  amazing ;  but  it  was  also  maddening  to  a  fellow 
who  would  somewhat  rather  take  up  a  quarrel  with 
the  jailer  than  not.  But  I  had  caution  to  think  of 
also,  and  I  began  to  dictate  to  myself  that  punish- 
ment for  Bain  would  wait.  It  was  information  I 
wanted  now. 

But  the  man  appeared  to  become  disgusted  with 
the  stubborn  silence  of  his  captive.  He  said  as  much 
in  a  coarse  sentence.  His  words  warned  me,  too, 
that  his  visit  in  the  house  was  at  an  end  and  I  had 
just  time  to  leap  aside  upon  the  grass,  when  he 


A  Companion  of  Luck  121 

opened  the  door  and  his  light  went  out.  Out  he 
came  again,  as  I  knew  by  the  sounds,  and  presently 
he  had  barred  and  bolted  the  door  and  was  off  down 
the  path  once  more. 

I  stood  quite  still.  If  my  ears  and  my  guiding 
star  had  not  played  me  false  I  had  fallen  into  the 
most  extraordinary  good  fortune,  for  the  very  per- 
son who  might  do  Hal's  cause  most  good  seemed  to 
be  actually  in  my  hands.  I  waited  while  Bain's  foot- 
steps died  away  down  the  path.  My  fingers  itched 
to  be  upon  that  bolt  and  bar.  And  when  at  last  I 
felt  that  a  move  was  safe  I  turned  eagerly  to  the 
door.  I  spoke  aloud  quickly  to  warn  the  prisoner 
that  a  friend  and  not  a  foe  now  was  her  visitor. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  I  said.  "  I'm  a  friend.  I've 
come  to  let  you  out — to  get  you  away  from  Bain. 
I  can  help  you  escape  and  you  can  help  me.  It's 
a  shame  and  an  outrage  that  you  have  been  kept 
out  here,  but  you'll  have  your  chance  to  get  even 
with  Judson  Bain." 

I  was  undoing  the  fastenings  of  the  door  swiftly 
as  I  spoke.  I  waited  for  no  answer.  I  wanted  none. 
I  only  hoped  the  frightened  girl  inside  would  be 
quietly  acquiescent  in  my  scheme  for  carrying  her 
off. 

I  pushed  open  the  door  and  felt  for  a  match 
in  my  waistcoat  pocket.  I  reduced  my  voice  to  a 
whisper  and  crossed  the  threshold,  scratching  for 
a  light  on  the  damp  timbers  at  my  side.  And  then, 
suddenly,  without  a  sign  of  warning  something 


122  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

heavy  and  cruel  and  crushing  came  smashing  down 
upon  me,  striking  me  a  terrific  blow  upon  the  back 
of  my  head  and  neck,  and  sending  me  staggering 
forward  to  fall,  blinded  and  stunned,  into  a  mass  of 
vile  refuse  upon  the  floor,  a  million  lights  dancing 
before  my  eyes  while  the  light  of  sense  and  reason 
ebbed  out. 


CHAPTER  X 
NOT  ALWAYS  TO  THE  BOLD 

T  T  AVE  you  ever  heard  a  bird  sing  in  the  night  ? 
•*-  -*•  When  I  came  back  to  consciousness  or  to 
the  borderland  of  it, my  first  sensation  was  that  some 
little  feathered  fellow  was  twittering  away  for  dear 
life  near  at  hand.  The  impression  was  that  it  was 
real — that  it  was  the  first  part  of  the  real  world 
that  my  waking  senses  took  hold  of  after  a  sleep  of 
some  duration.  When  I  became  fully  awake  to  feel- 
ing and  memory,  however,  the  bird  song  was  lost. 

It  was  absolutely  dark  about  me.  There  was 
not  so  much  as  a  thread  of  light  anywhere  visible. 
As  for  sound,  I  am  sure  that  if  one  were  shut  up  in 
a  vault,  it  could  not  seem  more  silent.  My  own  deep 
breath  as  I  rolled  over  on  my  side  and  sat  up  echoed 
dully  in  the  space  of  the  room  in  which  I  lay. 

I  had  not  much  sensation  of  giddiness.  A  little 
there  was.  But  there  was  plenty  of  pain  in  my 
head  and  neck  and  the  sting  of  broken  skin.  But  I 
knew  I  was  not  greatly  hurt  because  of  the  freedom 
from  deeper  feeling  of  sickness.  As  recollection 
of  what  had  happened  came  back  my  first  impulse 
was  to  speak  to  the  girl  who,  I  supposed,  must  be 
somewhere  here  with  me. 

123 


124  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Hello  there !  "  I  ventured. 

There  was  no  reply.  Surely  she  must  be  fright- 
ened half  out  of  her  wits. 

"  Hello !  "  I  repeated.  "  I'm  a  prisoner,  too,  it 
seems." 

Perfect  silence.  I  held  my  own  breath  now  to 
listen  for  a  sound  of  any  stir.  There  was  none. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  I  persisted.  "  I  came  here  as 
a  friend.  Bain  seems  to  have  gotten  the  better  of 
me,  too,"  I  added  with  sudden  rueful  review  of  my 
actions.  How  easy  it  is  to  see,  in  retrospect,  wherein 
we  have  been  fools — when  we  have  met  failure  or 
defeat.  I  could  not  but  be  sure  that  I  had  been 
cleverly  tricked,  indeed.  Here  I  was  with  a  broken 
head,  a  prisoner,  when  I  had  believed  myself  at  the 
top  of  an  amazing  wave  of  luck — too  amazing  to 
be  true,  I  told  myself,  as  I  sat  considering. 

But  I  have  no  patience  with  grief  over  a  lost 
trick.  I  am  ready  to  see  when  I've  played  my  cards 
wrong,  but  I  want  to  play  the  next  hand  and  not 
cry  over  the  last.  That  is  why  I  do  not  always  get 
from  meditation  just  what  profit  might  be  ex- 
tracted, I  suppose.  It  is  also  why  I  sometimes  secure 
an  advantage.  On  the  gridiron  at  college  we  were 
coached  to  line  up  fast  after  a  play,  however  much 
it  may  have  gone  against  us,  and  to  put  another 
over  as  quickly  as  possible — to  play  the  other  fellow 
off  his  feet.  It's  not  a  bad  method  in  any  sort  of 
game. 

I  lighted  a  match.    The  first  thing  I  saw  was  a 


Not  Always  to  the  Bold  125 

hand  well  covered  with  my  own  blood.  Then  as 
the  little  stick  flamed  up  I  saw  the  interior  of  a  log- 
hut  some  twelve  feet  square.  On  its  floor  was 
nothing  but  stable  refuse.  On  its  walls  there  was 
nothing  at  all.  The  ceiling  was  the  under  side  of 
a  heavy  board  roof.  There  was  no  window.  There 
was  but  one  door — the  heavy  oak  affair  I  had  seen 
first  by  the  light  of  Judson  Bain's  match — and  it 
was  tight  shut,  evidently  locked  now.  In  one  corner 
was  a  pile  of  straw.  On  it  lay  a  horse-blanket. 
There  seemed  to  be  something  under  the  blanket. 

I  rose  to  my  feet.  I  let  my  match  go  out  and 
stretched  cautiously,  putting  my  hands  up  against 
the  roof,  which  I  could  just  reach.  Then  I  struck 
a  second  match  and  moved  slowly  across  the  floor. 
If  any  one  were  in  the  place  at  all  it  must  be  under 
that  blanket.  There  was  no  other  hiding-place.  I 
held  my  match  guarded  by  my  hand  and  stooped 
over  the  bed-like  pile.  Then  I  lifted  the  corner  of 
the  blanket  carefully. 

I  suppose  every  one  has  had  the  experience  of 
climbing  stairs  in  the  dark  and  has  calculated  on 
one  more  step  after  reaching  the  top,  putting  the 
foot  out  and  down  with  expectation  of  finding  a 
final  stair  but  coming  down  with  that  peculiarly 
flat  jolt  of  disappointment.  I  can  think  of  no  other 
sensation  to  which  to  compare  my  own  feeling  when 
I  found  no  little  human  head  there  on  that  pallet. 
I  had  believed  so  absolutely  that  just  one  person 
was  there,  and  that  person  a  girl  whose  whereabouts 


iz6  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  would  be  glad  indeed  to  discover,  that  I  could  not 
believe  the  evidence  of  my  eyes  in  the  match-light 
when  what  appeared  to  be  merely  a  bunch  of  loose 
cloth  was  discovered  under  the  blanket.  The  reve- 
lation was  as  complete  a  turn-over  of  confident  ex- 
pectation as  I  ever  expect  to  experience.  I  simply 
could  not  believe  it. 

I  even  paused  to  turn  about  and  look  again  around 
the  silent  hut.  I  drew  the  blanket  on  down  and  off 
the  straw  with  slow  caution, half  expecting  still  that 
I  should  uncover  a  little  cringing  form.  But  no  such 
form  was  there,  and  the  certainty  slowly  forced 
itself  upon  me  that  I  had  been  duped  and  fooled 
beyond  belief.  Tricked,  of  course,  and  trapped,  I 
knew  I  had  been.  But  that  talk  of  Bain  here  in  this 
hut !  Had  it  been  addressed  to  empty  air  ?  Had  he 
known  I  followed  him  ?  How  far  back  then  had  he 
known  of  my  movements?  Who  had  struck  me 
down?  How  much  preparation  had  there  been  for 
this  trick  upon  me?  How  much  did  they  know  of 
my  purpose  and  aim  in  this  place?  How  much  of 
what  I  thought  I  had  learned,  besides  the  misguid- 
ing words  that  had  hoodwinked  me  here,  was  also 
false? 

I  dropped  my  second  match  and  put  my  foot  upon 
it.  Then  I  stood  still  in  the  darkness  fairly  awed  by 
the  thing.  I  cannot  say  I  was  frightened.  I  was 
puzzled — and  humiliated — yes,  shamed  to  the  center 
of  my  self-conceit.  I  felt  the  very  blush  of  it  heat 
my  face  and  neck  as  I  thought  of  the  enormous  folly 


Not  Always  to  the  Bold  127 

of  which  I  had  been  guilty,  and  then  a  great  qualm 
of  apprehension  as  I  realized  the  cleverness  of  the 
game  that  had  been  put  up  on  me  and  the  possibili- 
ties for  tricks  upon  my  friends  made  feasible  by  my 
blunder. 

Of  course,  brute  force  to  fight  trickery  suggests 
itself  to  a  chap  of  big  muscles  when  he  has  been 
cleverly  tripped.  The  impulse  to  seize  and  crush 
and  break  and  kill  something  rushed  upon  me.  Of 
course,  too,  it  was  my  hurt  pride  that  prompted  me. 
But  I  felt  that  I  must  have  action,  and  some  sort 
of  violence  would  be  the  least  that  would  satisfy 
me.  The  oaken  door  offered  an  object  upon  which 
I  might  at  least  expend  a  part  of  my  rising  head  of 
steam  and  I  could  not  even  wait  to  look  for  any 
sort  of  tool  or  weapon,  but  leaped  to  it  and  tore  at 
it  with  my  hands. 

Naturally  it  resisted  my  foolish  efforts.  It  was 
as  tight  in  its  place  as  a  drumhead  and  solid  enough 
to  defy  a  dozen  bare-handed  men  like  me.  It 
brought  me  to  a  pause  very  promptly  and  I  turned 
away  and  back  to  the  center  of  the  hut  with  some 
chagrin  at  the  futile  effort. 

I  lighted  another  match  then  and  returned  to  the 
straw  pile  in  the  corner.  Mere  curiosity  suggested 
a  turning  over  of  the  articles  of  clothing  there  and 
I  stopped  to  shake  them  out.  In  that  moment  an- 
other astonishing  revelation  came  to  me.  No  sooner 
did  I  touch  the  stuff  than  I  was  struck  by  a  curious 
sense  of  familiarity  in  the  appearance  of  the  things, 


128  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

and,  as  I  picked  up  a  man's  coat  and  let  it  unroll 
in  loose  folds  in  my  hand,  I  knew  it  suddenly  for 
my  own — my  coat  that  I  had  packed  in  my  hunter's 
pack  and  had  left  with  my  gun  at  the  tenant-house 
down  in  Cold  Spring  farmyard,  not  two  hours 
ago. 

And  the  other  things  were  all  there.  There  was 
my  vest  and  some  other  extra  clothing,  of  which 
I  had  made  up  a  bundle  that  I  might  not  appear  to 
be  traveling  without  luggage  though  I  had  not  ex- 
pected to  use  any  of  these  things  at  Cold  Spring. 
My  pack  had  been  ruthlessly  torn  open  evidently  and 
the  contents  had  been  brought  here — in  anticipation 
of  my  coming.  Of  course  the  gun  was  not  there 
nor  anything  that  could  be  considered  a  weapon 
and  the  reason  for  opening  my  pack  was  clear  in 
this. 

The  meaning  of  my  imprisonment  here  was  not 
far  to  seek.  If  Bain  knew  enough  of  me  to  recog- 
nize in  me  an  enemy,  he  knew  enough  to  want  to 
keep  me — perhaps  even  to  plan  some  rich  revenge 
upon  me  now — for  the  upset  I  had  given  him  in  our 
first  encounter.  If  he  really  knew  who  I  was,  how 
he  must  now  be  gloating  over  me,  I  thought;  and 
I  began  myself  to  see  some  of  the  humorous  fea- 
tures of  my  discomfiture.  But  a  much  more  inter- 
esting task  was  an  attempt  to  construct  if  possible 
the  chain  of  occurrences  that  had  led  to  this  unlucky 
turn. 

My  mind  naturally  went  back  to  the  incident  of 


Not  Always  to  the  Bold  129 

the  telephone  and  I  remembered  the  pale-faced  drug 
clerk.  He  might  have  overheard  my  talk  with 
Barnaby  or  enough  of  it  to  give  him  a  clue  to  my 
quest.  If  he  had  been  friendly  with  Bain  it  would 
be  natural  for  him  to  send  a  warning  to  Cold  Spring 
— perhaps.  I  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  cock-sure  of 
my  own  theories.  Granting  this,  however,  or  that 
information  had  early  reached  Bain  that  some  one 
was  coming  to  Cold  Spring  Farm,  and  that  some  one 
in  search  of  Luella  Westfall,  the  rest  was  explain- 
able. I  let  my  light  die  out  and  sat  down  on  the 
straw  to  consider  it  all.  It  would  have  been  simple, 
for  instance,  for  Bain  himself  to  get  a  look  at  me 
while  I  sat  unconscious  of  suspicion  at  the  fore- 
man's table.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  have  me 
carefully  watched  and  followed.  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve that  the  conversation  to  which  I  had  listened 
in  the  porch  had  been  invented  for  my  benefit,  how- 
ever, for  it  seemed  too  natural  to  be  the  product  of 
an  artificial  situation.  But  I  was  not  certain  of 
that  even.  Somewhere  the  tricking  began — some- 
where between  the  time  I  had  left  my  room  in  the 
tenant  cottage  and  had  slid  down  the  lean-to  roof 
and  the  moment  when  the  blow  had  been  struck  at 
me  from  behind  when  I  stood  in  the  doorway  of 
the  log-hut  where  I  now  was.  Just  where  I  had 
begun  to  follow  other  leading  than  my  own  ini- 
tiative I  could  not  guess. 

As  for  my  present  situation  I  seemed  to  be  in  for 
a  night's  stay  in  my  prison  at  least.     Since  I  had 


130  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

come  back  to  consciousness  I  had  heard  no  sound  to 
indicate  that  any  person  was  in  my  vicinity.  I  might 
or  I  might  not  be  guarded.  I  was  quite  effectually 
imprisoned.  Perhaps  Bain  would  conclude,  quite 
naturally,  that  a  fellow  who  could  be  so  easily  duped 
into  a  trap  could  be  safely  trusted  not  to  escape  from 
so  stout  a  little  box  as  this. 

I  did  some  earnest  thinking.  A  conclusion  rather 
more  impressive  than  welcome  was  that  the  game 
is  not  always  to  the  bold.  That  is  one  of  the  fal- 
lacies that  is  preached  at  youth  in  many  ways  in 
these  days.  The  game  is  to  the  bold,  only  when  he 
is  also  wise. 

Whether  it  was  this  sort  of  cogitation  that  put 
me  into  a  state  of  somnolence  I  cannot  say.  The 
somewhat  surprising  truth  is,  however,  that  I  went 
to  sleep  after  a  period  of  it.  Perhaps  the  loss  of 
a  quantity  of  blood  from  the  wound  in  my  neck 
had  to  do  with  it.  At  any  rate  I  slept — heavily. 
And  when  I  woke  there  was  light  at  the  chinks 
around  the  door — seen  from  within  this  time — 
and  birds  were  twittering  in  earnest,  and  it  was 
day. 

It  was  as  quiet,  except  for  the  wood-noises,  as  it 
had  been  in  the  night,  however.  Apparently  no  one 
was  near,  or  had  come  near  the  place,  since  I  had 
been  locked  into  it.  Whatever  the  intention  of  my 
enemy  regarding  me — if  he  had  one — he  had  appar- 
ently slept  upon  the  situation.  So  had  I.  He  had 
no  advantage  of  me  in  that.  Moreover,  I  felt  better. 


Not  Always  to  the  Bold  131 

No  headache;  my  neck  was  very  sore  but  the  blood 
was  dry  now  and  so  I  concluded  that  the  worst  of 
the  injury  was  over.  My  condition  was  good  and 
I  readily  recovered  from  most  hurts.  That  was  a 
reason  for  fearing  them  comparatively  little,  I  sup- 
pose. My  principal  physical  sensation  on  waking 
was  one  of  thirst. 

A  little  light  came  into  the  interior  of  the  hut. 
There  was  enough  by  which  to  verify  the  impres- 
sions I  had  obtained  by  match-light.  I  got  up  and 
poked  about  the  walls  and  door  again  in  the  dim- 
ness, seeking  without  expectation  for  something  I 
might  have  overlooked.  I  found  nothing  that  was 
worth  consideration.  I  discovered  that  I  could  see 
out  between  the  edge  of  the  door  and  its  casing  and 
could  clearly  define  the  lines  of  the  bolt  and  bar 
across  that  exceedingly  narrow  opening,  and  this 
suggested  the  use  of  a  pocket-knife  to  cut  away  the 
edge  of  the  plank  till  I  could  touch,  and  possibly 
manipulate,  those  fastenings.  But  as  my  pocket- 
knife  was  a  silver-handled  affair  whose  largest  blade 
was  two  inches  long,  and,  as  the  plank  was  of  two- 
inch  oak,  I  decided  against  such  an  attempt.  I 
might  succeed  in  cutting  a  way  to  the  bolts  in  the 
course  of  a  couple  of  days  or  so,  but  I  am  not  of  the 
temper  to  wax  enthusiastic  over  such  a  prospect. 

But  patience  was  absolutely  the  only  quality  that 
was  worth  cultivating  that  morning.  My  watch 
informed  me — that  I  had  neglected  to  wind  it  the 
night  before — so  I  had  to  guess  at  the  time.  The 


132  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

sunlight  found  its  way  through  a  crack  in  the  wall 
at  one  side  of  the  room  and  I  watched  it  creep  across 
the  place,  looking  in  the  dust  through  which  it  shone 
like  a  long  gilded  wizard-brush,  stretched  out  to 
paint  a  streak  across  the  straw  and  litter  on  the 
floor.  Only  no  streak  was  left  behind.  The  pig- 
ment magically  followed  the  magic  brush — about 
as  ink  will  follow  a  pen  with  which  one  strives  to 
write  on  oiled  paper.  And  I  guessed  that  it  was 
sunrise,  and  eight  o'clock  and  nine  and  ten  and  noon 
in  slow,  slow  succession. 

It  grew  unpleasant,  that  little  stuffy,  tight  place. 
I  have  no  superlatives  to  apply  to  it  now,  for  if  I 
yielded  to  the  superlative  impulse  I  might  say  some- 
thing objectionable.  But  from  sunrise  to  noon  in 
April  is  quite  a  stretch.  I  had  plenty  of  time  to 
think,  to  grow  more  thirsty,  to  think  and  to  grow 
more  thirsty.  Then  I  had  time  to  grow  deeply 
wroth  and  more  wroth — and  to  begin  really  to  feel 
distress  for  water.  Still  the  silent  minutes  and  half 
minutes  and  seconds  and  half  seconds  dragged 
away!  I  had  time  to  go  over  every  one  of  the 
swift  events  of  my  wonderful  yesterday,  which  had 
been  as  full  of  amazingly  rapid  action  as  to-day 
was  of  silence  and  enforced  rest.  I  had  time  to 
think  of  what  a  contrast  my  situation  and  all  my 
desires  and  wishes  to-day  presented  to  my  aims  and 
plans  of  two  days  back.  I  had  time  to  think  of  the 
fortune  waiting  for  me  in  the  city  toward  which  I 
had  been  hastening  and  of  the  strange  event  that 


Not  Always  to  the  Bold  133 

had  turned  me  from  my  eagerness  to  possess  it.  I 
had  time  to  think  of  a  brave  girl,  of  whose  very 
existence  I  had  not  dreamed  when  I  began  my  jour- 
ney but  for  whom  I  was  now  willing — yes,  even 
glad — to  be  at  war  with  a  dangerous  enemy — if  only 
I  had  not  been  such  a  consummate  fool  as  to  esti- 
mate him  at  so  low  a  figure. 


CHAPTER  XI 
NOR  TO  THE  PATIENT 

T  HAD  time  to  think  all  the  thoughts  that  might 
-••  naturally  come.  Why  rehearse  them?  And 
when  I  heard  footsteps  on  the  path  outside — after 
my  magic  brush  had  painted  and  picked  up  its  magic 
streak  more  than  halfway  across  my  prison — I  was 
ready  to  welcome  my  clever  enemy  himself,  for  very 
company's  sake.  And  he  had  come. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  be  sensible  ?  " 

Think  of  it.  That  was  the  question  he  put  to  me 
through  the  door  of  that  hut  when  he  stood  by  the 
barred  oak.  I  laugh  as  I  think  of  it  now.  He  was 
a  joker — Judson  Bain — a  joker. 

'  Yes,"  I  answered  as  promptly  as  I  ever  replied 
in  my  life  to  a  question. 

"Will  you  be  quiet?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  I  have  a  man  with  me  with  a  gun !  He  won't 
hesitate  to  shoot,"  he  warned  me. 

I  looked  out  through  a  crack  low  in  the  wall.  I 
could  see  the  legs  of  two  of  them. 

'  You  won't  need  your  gun,"  I  answered. 

The  wooden  bar  was  raised  and  the  bolt  pushed 
back.  The  door  opened  a  bit  and  the  fat  face  of 

134 


Nor  to  the  Patient  135 

my  captor-in-chief  looked  in.  He  grinned  when  he 
saw  me  seated  on  my  straw.  He  motioned  to  the 
man  behind  him  to  come  up,  and  himself  stepped 
inside.  I  was  relieved  and  thankful  to  see  that  he 
had  brought  a  basket  with  him  and  better  still  a  big 
bottle  of  water.  I  stirred  promptly  to  get  up,  for 
the  thirst  was  burning  my  throat. 

"  Sit  still,"  commanded  Bain  promptly.  "  Jack," 
he  added  to  the  man  with  him,  "  if  he  moves  fill  him 
full  of  bird-shot." 

The  other  man  stood  in  the  doorway.  I  looked 
at  him  in  silent  astonishment.  He  was  my  Irish 
friend  of  the  evening  supper,  the  barn-boss.  In  his 
hands  he  held  a  shotgun — my  own  little  cheap  gun — 
and  both  hammers  of  the  thing  were  drawn  back,  as 
evidently  ready  for  business  as  if  they  had  expected 
me  to  leap  upon  them.  The  implication  might  be 
considered  flattering.  I  did  not  dwell  upon  it,  how- 
ever. 

"  How  have  you  slept?"  asked  Bain  facetiously. 

"  Well,  thank  you,"  I  answered  him,  and  I  chalked 
the  count  against  him  on  my  mental  record  for  an 
accounting  to  come. 

"  Hmph !  "  he  remarked.  "  Well,  I  have  no  mind 
to  starve  you  to  death.  Here's  some  food." 

This  sounded  too  decent  to  be  consistent.  I  did 
not  venture  an  answer. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  if  you'll  tell  me  who  you  are 
and  why  you  are  spying  on  me — why  you  came  to 
attack  me  in  my  office  and  followed  me  up  here — 


136  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

we  may  get  to  some  basis  for  an  understanding. 
When  a  man  is  my  enemy  I  like  to  know  why." 

It  was  a  curious  attempt  at  bluff,  hearty,  courage- 
ous talk;  I  sounded  the  shallowness  of  it  but  I  an- 
swered him  freely  enough.  I  was  impressed  that 
I  held  one  advantage  in  having  once  played  the  fool 
for  him.  He  would  look  for  the  like  from  me 
again  perhaps. 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  me  a  fair  question  like  that 
in  the  first  place?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why  should  you  come  here,  a  stranger,  and  take 
part  in  a  fight  with  which  you  had  nothing  to  do  ?  " 
he  responded. 

"  I  started  no  fight  with  you,"  I  answered. 

"  You  came  as  young  Philbric's  emissary,"  he 
growled. 

"  I  never  heard  of  Philbric  till  you  mentioned 
him,"  I  told  him. 

He  stared.    "  Of  course  that's  a  lie,"  he  said. 

"  It  was  just  such  a  remark  as  that  which  started 
our  trouble  yesterday,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  there  won't  be  any  trouble  to-day." 

"  No — not  while  you  have  your  man  and  your 
gun  at  hand." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  had  my  card." 

"  Yes.    Your  name  is  Randall.    What  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  young  man  who  had  not  the  slightest  hos- 
tility to  you  yesterday  morning,  Judson  Bain,"  I 
answered. 


Nor  to  the  Patient  137 

"  What  brought  you  to  my  office  with  that  note  ?  " 
He  looked  at  me  with  puzzlement  clear  in  his  eyes. 

"  The  chance  request  of  a  lady,"  said  I,  willing  to 
show  him  his  own  unwisdom  now. 

"Oh— Donna  Philbric?" 

"  Miss  Philbric." 

"She  sent  you?" 

"  She  asked  me  to  deliver  that  note  to  you." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  the  answer  is  up  to  you." 

"  I  thought "    He  hesitated. 

"  You  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  an 
enemy." 

He  scowled  at  me.  "  Why  did  you  come  up 
here?" 

"  To  find  you." 

"Why,  I  say?" 

"  That's  the  answer." 

"  No ;  but  what  do  you  want — now  you've  found 
me?" 

"  I  came  because  I  hadn't  much  faith  in  the  town 
marshal.  I've  started  suit  against  you  for  assault." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.     "  You  have,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  And  your  witnesses  ?  " 

"  I  shall  have  little  trouble  making  out  a  case," 
said  I. 

He  paused  again.  "  But  that  wasn't  what  brought 
you  here,"  he  asserted. 

"  All  right,"  said  I.    "  What  did?  " 


138  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Why  did  you  sneak  a  look  at  Scancey's  tele- 
grams ?  " 

I  suppose  I  started  at  that,  for  he  immediately 
laughed  again.  But  I  answered  that  readily,  too. 
"  To  trace  you,"  I  said. 

"  How  did  you  know  I  had  left  town?  " 

"  You  were  seen  to  go." 

It  was  his  turn  to  start  now.  He  did,  and  he 
glanced  hastily  at  the  barn-boss,  who  was  listening 
with  avid  interest. 

"  Did  you  see  me?" 

"  No — oh,  no,"  answered  I,  and  laughed  in  my 
turn,  too. 

"  Why  did  you  come,  then  ?  " 

"  I  told  you." 

I  saw  that  he  did  not  dare  to  ask  me  the  question 
to  which  he  really  wanted  an  answer,  at  least  in 
the  presence  of  his  man.  I  was  willing,  therefore, 
to  play  with  his  dilemma. 

"  Go  ahead,"  I  said,  "  ask  me  the  thing  you  want 
to." 

He  looked  again  at  the  Irishman.  "  I  want  to 
know  your  reasons  for  coming  up  here,"  was  the 
answer  he  made,  however. 

"  I  came,  Mr.  Bain,  because  I  knew  you  were 
here.  If  I  had  not  been  careless  you  would  not  have 
caught  me  here.  You  know  what  I  came  to  seek. 
The  person  who  told  you  I  was  coming  could  not 
know  that  fact  without  knowing  my  quest.  Now 
you  understand  ?  " 


Nor  to  the  Patient  139 

He  began  to  lose  his  temper.  "  You're  a  fool !  " 
he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  I  know  that.  I'm  a  lot  bigger 
fool  now  than  I  shall  be  again  immediately." 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  here  for  awhile,"  he 
threatened. 

"  Very  likely,"  I  answered. 

"  You'll  stay  here  till  you  are  ready  to  tell  me 
the  truth  about  who  you  are  and  why  you  are  my 
enemy." 

"  Or,"  I  amended,  "  till  my  friends  come  after 
me." 

"Your  friends?" 

"  Yes.    They  know  quite  well  where  I  am." 

"  Do  they  ? "  He  laughed  again  more  easily. 
"  They  may  think  you  are  at  Cold  Spring." 

I  did  not  reply  to  that.  It  was  true  that  my 
friends  might  have  difficulty  in  finding  me  if  I  were 
confined  here  long  enough  to  arouse  their  suspicions. 
But  my  friends  were  of  very  new  making  and  they 
had  troubles  of  their  own — quite  as  vital  as  mine. 
What  would  be  their  attitude  toward  me  if  they 
failed  to  hear  from  me  for  a  day  or  two  and  if 
their  own  difficulties  pressed  hard?  The  reflection 
was  not  reassuring,  and  Bain,  who  watched  me 
shrewdly  while  I  went  over  my  case,  suddenly 
laughed  again  at  his  reading  of  my  face. 

"  I  guess  that  would  be  a  good  one  to  leave  you 
to  think  about,"  he  said. 

I  had  no  reply  for  this  either.     I  had  no  choice 


140  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

with  that  shotgun  staring  my  way  but  to  take  what 
he  said.  But  I  understood  now  more  of  what  he 
intended,  more  of  his  power  and  of  its  limitations ; 
also,  curious  as  it  may  seem,  my  thirst  was  suf- 
ficient at  that  moment  to  cause  me  only  impatience 
that  he  should  be  gone,  so  that  I  might  be  at  that 
bottle  of  water — even  at  the  price  of  prolonged  im- 
prisonment. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  grinning,  "  I  think  we'll  try  it. 
I'll  come  again  later  and  see  how  you  do.  Perhaps 
you'll  have  arrived  at  some  decision." 

He  and  his  man  went  out.  They  closed  the  door 
and  barred  it.  No  sooner  were  their  footsteps  in  the 
path  than  that  water  bottle  was  at  my  lips,  and  I 
think  I  never  tasted  drink  that  was  equal  to  its  con- 
tents. I  think  I  drank  a  quart.  And  I  felt  enough 
better  for  it  to  be  entirely  cheerful  over  my  own 
prospects. 

My  only  worry,  indeed,  most  of  the  time,  was 
about  affairs  at  The  Hazels.  I  could  but  guess  what 
might  be  going  on  there  to-day.  I  hoped  that  Bain's 
absence  would  have  the  effect  of  delaying  matters  in 
the  case  against  Hal  and  that  I  might  yet  manage 
an  escape  to  be  of  use  to  him  and  to  Donna.  I 
should  have  enough  against  Judson  Bain  now  when 
I  should  be  at  liberty  to  make  things  hot  for  him. 
Naturally  he  also  knew  that  and  he  would  protect 
himself  if  he  could.  How  far  he  would  go  in  deal- 
ing with  me  I  could  not  foresee.  I  felt  quite  cer- 
tain that  he  would  use  as  rigorous  measures  as  he 


Nor  to  the  Patient  141 

dared.  If  he  were  convinced  that  my  friends  could 
not  find  me  he  might  not  hesitate  to  keep  me  here 
for  a  protracted  period.  I  might  have  difficulty,  in- 
deed, in  proving  anything  against  him  afterwards. 
He  was  of  the  sort  to  dare  just  that  kind  of  thing 
if  hard-pressed,  and  I  believed  my  following  the  trail 
of  the  girl  to  Cold  Spring  had  pressed  him  hard 
indeed. 

I  ate  some  of  the  luncheon  I  found  in  the  basket. 
It  was  bread  and  meat  mainly,  with  a  bottle  of  salt 
and  one  of  pepper  for  seasoning.  It  was  just  such 
a  combination  as  a  man  who  was  unused  to  such  a 
task  would  be  likely  to  throw  together.  It  argued 
to  my  mind  that  few  of  the  household  at  the  farm 
were  in  the  secret  of  my  capture.  I  was  hungry 
enough  to  relish  the  fare,  however,  and  did  full 
justice  to  it.  When  I  had  finished  I  sat  again  upon 
my  cot  and  fell  to  studying  my  case. 

The  prospect  was  that  I  would  have  some  hours 
now  to  wait  again  before  I  should  receive  another 
visit  from  Bain.  Whether  he  would  come  that 
afternoon  or  the  following  morning  I  had  no  means 
of  judging.  If  he  chose  to  wait  twenty-four  hours 
I  was  helpless  to  hurry  him.  What  I  desired  to  do 
— must  do  now — was  to  plan  a  stratagem  to  try 
upon  him  when  he  should  come.  It  was  to  this, 
then,  that  I  bent  my  mind  as  I  lay  back  in  the  place 
where  I  had  spent  the  night  and  the  morning  and 
watched  my  sunbeam  go  on  its  way  across  the  floor. 
And  I  thought  to  good  purpose. 


142  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  began  by  a  systematic  consideration  of  means 
at  hand,  an  inventory  of  the  contents  of  the  hut, 
indeed,  with  which  I  might  put  up  a  fight  or  a  sur- 
prise against  the  odds  that  would  oppose  me.  It 
did  not  seem  hopeful  at  first,  but  necessity  will  al- 
ways mother  some  sort  of  invention  if  it  is  really 
necessity — and  I  was  convinced  mine  was  real.  I 
spent  some  hours  even  finding  a  clue  to  a  scheme 
upon  which  to  work,  so  I  cannot  claim  that  the  game 
I  attempted  was  an  inspiration.  But  I  did  evolve 
a  plan.  And  I  put  it  into  effect,  too. 

The  long  afternoon  dragged  away.  It  was  dull 
enough  for  the  most  part,  but  toward  its  close  when 
I  got  my  idea  and  when  I  began  to  hope  for  an 
early  opportunity  to  try  its  efficacy  I  also  began  to 
find  plenty  of  interest  and  amusement  in  it.  Indeed, 
I  recollect  distinctly  a  laugh  or  two  in  which  I  in- 
dulged, in  the  earnest  hope  I  commenced  to  entertain 
that  success  might  perch  upon  my  banners,  as  it 
were.  If  success  refused  to  perch  it  is  true  there 
was  an  excellent  chance  that  I  might  find  a  charge 
or  two  of  bird-shot  as  the  reward  of  my  pains. 
That  had  its  serious  side  certainly.  But  I  meant 
to  have  my  try  and  to  put  up  a  fight  at  any  rate. 

I  had  made  some  preparations.  One  thing  I  had 
done  was  to  roll  upon  my  lead  pencil  the  paper  that 
had  covered  my  luncheon  in  the  basket,  making  a 
tube  thereof.  I  had  fastened  the  outer  layer  by  slit- 
ting the  sheet  with  my  knife  and  pulling  a  tongue 
of  the  next  layer  through  as  I  have  seen  letters 


Nor  to  the  Patient  143 

fastened  together  in  business  offices.  It  made  a  neat 
tube  about  two  feet  long  like  a  boy's  putty-blower, 
and  that  was  my  weapon.  I  had  selected  my  am- 
munition also  ?  Indeed,  it  had  been  the  ammunition 
with  which  my  idea  had  started.  And  I  had  a  plan 
rather  carefully  sketched  out  for  using  it. 

As  the  afternoon  light  dwindled  to  twilight,  how- 
ever, and  then  to  velvet  darkness  again  my  hope 
began  to  dwindle  somewhat.  I  began  to  fear  that 
Bain  intended  to  give  me  a  longer  time  to  think 
over  my  position  than  I  could  possibly  desire  or 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  the  radical  course 
of  simply  keeping  me  shut  up  till  he  was  ready  to 
liberate  me  and  let  me  go  and  do  as  I  liked.  It  was 
a  rather  helpless  position  in  which  I  was  placed  if 
he  chose  to  do  that.  But  just  as  I  had  almost  lost 
expectation  of  seeing  him  again  that  night  I  heard 
his  now  welcome  voice  in  the  thicket  outside  and 
knew  that  the  test  of  my  stratagem  was  at  hand. 
And  I  rose  to  the  play  with  a  sort  of  fierce  joy  in 
it  upon  me  that  made  me  feel  ready  to  strike  hard 
blows  indeed  if  the  opportunity  offered. 


CHAPTER  XII 
SOMETIMES  TO  THE  WISE 

THE  door  of  the  hut  opened  inward.  When 
Bain  and  his  red-faced  barn-boss  had  come 
in  the  morning  the  former  had  unbarred  the  door 
and  peered  in  while  his  aid  stood  outside  with  the 
gun  in  readiness  in  case  the  prisoner  should  prove 
obstreperous.  I  hoped  that  some  such  order  might 
prevail  to-night,  though  I  cared  little  which  of  the 
two  I  dealt  with  first. 

When  I  heard  them  coming  I  was  like  a  boy  with 
a  Hallowe'en  trick  to  perpetrate.  It  was  a  rather 
pleasurable  sensation,  after  nearly  twenty-four 
hours  of  inactivity  and  confinement,  to  have  some- 
thing definite  to  do  and  to  be  planning  a  fight.  And 
when  the  steps  of  the  men  on  the  path  outside  be- 
came plainly  audible  I  stood  in  my  corner  by  the 
straw  ready  to  begin  my  end  of  the  program. 

I  was  somewhat  taken  aback  when  I  discovered 
that,  instead  of  the  ordinary  lantern  light  I  had  half 
expected  them  to  bring,  they  appeared  to  have  an 
electric  torch.  The  ray  of  it  was  easily  recognizable 
as  it  played  on  the  ground  and  about  the  hut  at 
their  approach.  This  fact  embarrassed  me,  for  I 
hoped  for  equal  advantages  of  light  at  least  between 

144 


Sometimes  to  the  Wise  145 

us.  But  I  swiftly  decided  that  my  plan  was  good 
enough  to  try  even  with  this  added  handicap  against 
me  and  I  held  to  my  resolution. 

Bain  came  up  to  the  door  exactly  as  he  had 
earlier. 

"  Hello  there !  "  he  saluted  me. 

"  I'm  here,"  said  I  from  the  corner  of  the  straw, 
striving  to  put  the  sound  of  weariness  and  depres- 
sion into  my  voice.  There  was  a  snicker  at  my  re- 
sponse and  I  suppose  that  from  their  standpoint  it 
did  sound  amusing. 

"  Have  you  a  match  ?  "  asked  Bain. 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Light  it,"  he  commanded. 

I  had  a  serious  objection  to  compliance,  not  be- 
cause the  light  would  betray  my  scheme  but  because 
both  hands  were  fully  occupied.  I  hesitated. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  my  captor  inquiringly. 

"  I  thought  I  had  another,"  I  answered  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment. 

Bain  laughed.  "  Don't  like  the  dark,  eh  ?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  dispel  some  of  it,"  I  an- 
swered, impatient  for  my  opportunity. 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  at  the  door,  "  you  sit  still 
where  you  are.  If  you  are  on  your  feet  when  I  open 
the  door  we'll  shoot." 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  a  fool  ?  "  I  asked. 

I  heard  him  begin  unfastening  the  bars.  I  stepped 
softly  forward  in  the  darkness.  Next  moment  the 


146  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

door  swung  inward  and  instantly  the  electric  torch 
ray  swept  the  interior  in  a  circle  rounding  toward 
the  straw  cot.  Above  it  I  saw  the  shadow  of  a  head 
against  the  light  outside,  and  back  of  that  the  bar- 
rels of  the  gun,  with  a  reflected  glint  in  them  that 
advised  me  of  their  closeness. 

I  put  my  little  paper  tube  to  my  lips  and  aimed 
it  at  the  face  that  was  turning  toward  me.  And 
then  as  the  glare  came  close  I  blew  viciously  upon 
the  thing  and  sent  my  welcome  home. 

If  the  surprise  were  not  as  complete  as  mine  the 
night  before  it  was  good  enough.  The  light  went 
out  with  instant  relaxation  of  the  hand  that  held 
it  and  I  knew  I  had  hit  my  mark.  There  was  a  wild 
curse  and  gasp  and  then  a  hoarse  shriek  of  pain,  and 
the  dark  blockade  in  the  doorway  fell  back  and 
away.  Doubling  down  to  as  low  a  posture  as  I 
dared  to  take  I  made  a  dive  through  the  opening, 
clubbing  the  heavy  water  bottle  as  my  remaining 
weapon.  I  saw  a  figure  turning  and  writhing  on 
the  path  and  another  upright  and  poised  against  a 
gray  patch  of  starlit  sky.  I  threw  my  bottle  in- 
stantly at  the  latter  and  heard  a  grunt  as  it  struck, 
thanks  be,  and  then  I  plunged  into  the  bushes  out 
of  gunshot,  with  the  open  fields  before  me  and  only 
the  cries  of  the  wounded  on  the  battle-ground  be- 
hind. And  laughter  nearly  undid  me  as  I  actually 
paused  to  listen  in  the  gloom  of  a  sweet-smelling 
meadow  to  the  bellowings  of  the  man  I  had  effectu- 
ally incapacitated  for  one  time.  For  Judson  Bain 


Sometimes  to  the  Wise  147 

would  not  see  again  that  night  by  torch-light  or 
otherwise.  My  ammunition  for  my  blow-gun  had 
been  a  good-sized  ounce  of  cayenne  pepper. 

The  running  was  good  across  that  field.  I  re- 
membered directions  sufficiently  well  to  point  my 
way  toward  the  stream,  and  when  I  reached  the 
bluff  and  scrambled  down  and  splashed  my  way 
through  water  that  came  up  to  my  hips  and  was 
cold,  the  shape  of  the  valley  itself  guided  me  back 
within  sight  of  the  lights  at  the  farm.  After  that 
my  problem  was  rather  to  think  of  appearances  than 
to  find  my  way. 

I  knew  that  my  head  and  neck  and  hands  must 
still  be  covered  with  blood  that  had  dried  upon  them 
and  which  I  had  had  no  opportunity  to  remove. 
This,  with  my  water-saturated  trousers  and  boots, 
must  have  made  of  me  an  object  that  would  have 
little  resemblance  to  a  civilized  being  should  I  ap- 
pear to  an  unexpectant  person  in  a  light.  My  first 
task  must  be  to  get  a  clean  up  if  possible  and  the 
prospect  did  not  seem  good.  It  was  a  serious  dif- 
ficulty, too,  for  there  was  no  chance  to  avoid  close 
observance  if  any  one  caught  sight  of  me  in  this 
condition.  I  was  six  miles  from  the  town,  where 
I  would  be  safe  enough  with  whatever  story  of  ex- 
planation I  cared  to  give.  On  Conrad's  farm  or 
even  in  Bain's  neighborhood  I  could  not  safely 
guess  at  friend  and  foe. 

But  I  could  not  hesitate  and  the  recollection  that 
I  had  not  yet  accomplished  all  that  I  had  come  for 


148  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

drove  me  suddenly  to  audacious  enterprise.  As  I 
ran  down  the  path  that  led  to  the  farmyard  I  re- 
flected that  it  was  quite  probable  not  more  than 
one  or  two  people  on  the  place  knew  of  my  imprison- 
ment. The  one  place  where  Bain  and  his  farm-boss 
would  think  last  of  looking  for  me,  if  they  thought 
it  worth  while  now  to  look  at  all,  would  be  on  the 
farm.  It  was  late  enough  so  that  most  of  the  hands 
would  be  off  duty  and  either  in  town  or  at  the 
tenant-houses.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  try  for  a 
clean  up  at  the  very  house  to  which  I  had  been  as- 
signed the  night  before. 

As  I  passed  the  gate  into  the  yard  proper,  there- 
fore, I  slowed  my  pace  to  a  rapid  walk,  crossed  past 
the  big  horse-barn  and  the  men's  dining-rooms  and 
so  to  the  house  where  I  had  had  a  room.  There 
were  no  lights  here  and  the  door  was  not  locked.  I 
went  in  without  hesitation  and  ran  up  the  stairs. 
I  found  the  door  of  my  room  at  the  end  of  the 
upper  hall,  entered  and  turned  on  the  light.  The 
shade  was  up  and  I  drew  it,  and  then  without  pause 
I  poured  water  into  the  bowl  and  plunged  into  such 
ablutions  as  I  could  perform  with  utmost  haste. 

One  can  do  much  in  five  minutes.  I  calculated 
that  I  would  have  so  much  leeway.  I  took  it, 
scrubbed  away  the  signs  of  my  adventures,  bound  a 
handkerchief  about  my  neck  and  let  it  lie  over  my 
ruined  collar,  combed  my  hair  with  a  bone  comb 
from  the  small  washstand  and  saw  by  the  mirror 
that  I  had  made  at  least  a  reasonable  success  of 


Sometimes  to  the  Wise  149 

the  whole  undertaking.  I  took  off  my  coat  and 
made  a  scrub  at  the  collar  of  it  with  a  wet  towel, 
getting  most  of  the  stains  off  the  corduroy,  too, 
with  the  cold  water.  Then  I  put  on  the  coat  again 
and  shut  off  my  light.  As  I  did  so  I  heard  noisy 
cries  and  shoutings  in  the  yard. 

I  ran  down  the  stairs  and  out.  Several  people 
were  rushing  about  and  all  were  centering  upon  a 
group  coming  up  the  path.  I  could  guess  who  made 
a  nucleus  for  the  little  bunch  of  people,  but  I  did 
not  pause  to  inquire.  I  wanted  a  hat  and  the  mo- 
ment seemed  a  possible  one  to  get  the  article.  I 
ran  around  the  house  by  the  way  with  which  I  had 
become  acquainted  the  night  before  and  up  to  the 
broad  front  steps.  A  man  was  smoking  in  front 
of  the  open  front  doors.  Inside  I  saw,  where  I  had 
seen  it  the  previous  evening,  a  rack  hung  with  coats 
and  hats. 

I  ran  up  the  steps.  "  Quick !  "  I  gasped  to  the 
fellow  there.  "  Bain's  hurt  and  they're  hard  after 
us.  Where's  the  girl !  " 

I  caught  his  arm.  As  I  did  so  I  saw  that  he  was 
my  bushy-haired  acquaintance  of  the  night  before. 
It  flashed  upon  me  that  he  might  even  be  the  man 
Conrad,  who  was  called  by  the  suggestive  title  of 
Curly.  I  took  the  chance.  He  was  a  little  chap 
anyhow  and  I  could  throw  him  over  my  head  if 
need  be. 

"  Quick,  Conrad !  "  I  insisted.  "  They're  gunning 
for  us." 


150  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

His  eyes  opened  like  a  frightened  child's  but  he 
held  back. 

"  Who — who  are  you  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  I'm  the  fellow  that  telephoned,"  I  answered, 
and  swung  him  around  to  the  light  so  that  my  back 
might  be  toward  it.  "  Scancey  sent  me !  " 

Suddenly  he  started  under  my  grasp,  for  a  loud 
shout  rang  through  the  yards. 

"All  hands  out!  Help!  Burglars!  Thieves! 
Fire !  "  That  was  the  cry.  It  echoed  over  the  lawn 
and  among  the  buildings  and  startled  the  quiet  night 
into  an  uproar. 

"  There !  "  I  cried  aloud.  "  Now,  quick !  Where 
is  she?" 

The  little  man  backed  weakly  against  the  door, 
"  She's  gone !  "  he  answered.  "  They  won't  find 
her.  Tell  Scancey  they  took  her  up  to  Hart — to 
OldDrom!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 
SHAKEN  CONFIDENCE 

T  DROPPED  him.  I  had  no  time  to  go  for  a  cap 
•*•  now.  I  had  time  only  to  run  out  into  the  dark- 
ness again  with  a  yell  of  fire  on  my  lips  to  add  a 
touch  of  realism  to  my  going,  for  his  benefit,  though 
he  looked  too  nearly  palsied  to  notice  me.  And  in 
a  moment  more  I  was  in  the  road  running  with  all 
the  power  of  a  pair  of  fairly  nimble  legs  for  the 
village. 

No  one  stopped  me.  I  went  straight  in  to  Chettes- 
worth  in  fairly  rapid  time.  I  found  a  quiet  town 
with  no  alarm  abroad.  Indeed,  it  was  getting  late 
at  that  time  and  all  really  good  citizens  seemed  to 
be  in  bed.  I  felt  rather  guilty  even  to  rouse  my 
good  German  landlady  and  give  her  my  week's  rent, 
but  I  had  no  further  use  for  her  room  now  and  I 
learned  at  the  station  that  a  train  would  leave  at 
midnight  that  would  take  me  back  to  Hazelhurst. 

I  was  still  hatless  and  was  without  gun  and  pack, 
but  I  told  my  landlady  I  had  gotten  into  deep  water 
yp  among  the  hills  and  lost  them  all,  and  promptly 
she  brought  me  a  soft  hat  from  somewhere  among 
her  possessions  that  was  not  a  bad  fit,  though  it  did 
not  serve  to  make  my  appearance  more  reputable. 

151 


152  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

Still,  I  was  glad  to  have  it,  for  a  hatless  man  is  a 
conspicuous  object,  especially  at  night. 

I  sat  on  the  station  platform  till  the  train  came, 
expecting  still  that  an  alarm  would  come  in  from 
Cold  Spring  Farm.  But  none  arrived  before  my 
train,  and  my  departure  was  disgustingly  peaceful. 
At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was  again  in  the 
quiet  streets  of  Hazelhurst,  on  the  very  corner,  in- 
deed, where  only  sixty  hours  before  I  had  flung  my 
ball  of  snow  at  the  wooden  image.  Just  sixty-two 
hours  ago !  It  seemed  far,  far  back  in  the  past. 

I  got  into  the  hotel,  but  no  one,  proprietor,  clerk 
or  servant,  was  about.  So  I  sat  in  a  chair  by  a  cold 
radiator  till  daylight,  reading  yesterday's  black 
headlines  in  the  papers,  accounts  of  the  Philbric  case 
which  told  nothing  new,  dozing  and  shivering  a  bit 
but  not  utterly  wretched.  After  that  I  got  breakfast 
and  a  room  and  did  some  thorough  cleaning  up.  At 
seven-thirty  I  was  on  the  road  to  The  Hazels  once 
more  behind  a  fairly  good  horse,  with  mingled  feel- 
ings of  foreboding  and  eager  anticipation  for  com- 
pany— besides  the  stable-boy  who  drove  me. 

I  found  King  out  walking  in  the  public  road  be- 
fore the  grounds  when  we  arrived  and  I  got  down 
at  once  and  dismissed  my  boy. 

He  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands  with  me  and 
I  thought  him  a  trifle  cold,  but  I  attributed  it 
promptly  to  anxiety.  We  approached  each  other 
with  questions  in  the  eyes  and  on  the  lips  of  each. 

"  How  are  they?  "  asked  I. 


Shaken  Confidence  153 

"Any  clue?  "  queried  he. 

And  then  we  answered  together.  I  told  him  in 
three  sentences  all  the  essentials  of  my  adventure. 
It  would  be  useless  to  detail  the  story  to  him,  I 
thought.  I  ended  with  a  question  about  the  place 
to  which  the  scared  little  man  in  the  porch  had  told 
me  the  girl  had  been  removed. 

"Hart?  Old  Drom?"  he  repeated  after  me. 
"  Oh  yes.  Old  Drom  is  short  for  Old  Dromedary 
and  it's  a  two-humped  old  mountain  up  back  of  the 
village  of  Hart  about  eighty  miles  west.  Bain's 
got  a  railroad  that  runs  up  into  the  mountains  there, 
and  some  timber  interests." 

"  Does  Barnaby  know  the  place?" 

"  Sure." 

"Then  let's  tell  him.  I've  effectually  ended  my 
own  usefulness  as  a  spy  upon  Bain.  He'll  be  on  the 
outlook  for  me  now." 

I  thought  King's  handsome  face  clouded  at  the 
word,  but  he  did  not  comment.  "  Yes,"  he  said, 
"  we'll  tell  Barnaby.  He  can  handle  the  matter." 

"And  Hal?"  I  asked  then. 

"  Hal  is  in  bad  shape,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  If 
we  can't  do  something  in  this  case  quickly  Bain 
and  Scancey  will  get  their  revenge  and  their  pro- 
tection, too,  without  striking  another  blow." 

"You  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that  the  thing  is  so  preying  on  Hal's 
mind  that  there  will  be  basis  for  an  insanity  inquiry 
if  we  don't  relieve  him." 


154  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  had  feared  it.  "  And  Donna  ?  "  I  asked,  using 
the  girl's  given  name  quite  unconsciously  and  inno- 
cently in  my  earnest  solicitude. 

My  companion  looked  suddenly  at  me  with  sharp 
examination. 

"  Donna  ?  "  he  answered.  "  She  is  as  brave  as 
could  be  expected." 

I  felt  that  there  was  a  shade  of  question  about  me 
in  his  mind  now.  I  can  scarcely  blame  him  as  I 
look  back  upon  the  time,  but  I  resented  it  then  and 
I  believe  the  breach  that  came  between  us  two  began 
in  a  rift  of  confidence  at  that  moment. 

"  What  does  Doctor  Graham  say  of  Philbric  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Just  what  he  has  from  the  first." 

"  Has  Scancey  made  any  move  ?  " 

"  None." 

"  And  the  coroner  ?  " 

"  The  jury  met  yesterday.  They  withheld  a  ver- 
dict." 

"Withheld  a  verdict!" 

"  Insufficient  evidence." 

I  stared  at  him.    "  Why,  how  could  they,  man?  " 

"  They  did." 

"  But  if  they  haven't  evidence  of  guilt  they  must 
acquit." 

"  They  can  investigate  further." 

lf  They  can.    Have  they  done  that  ?  " 

:f  They  sent  officers  here  again  yesterday." 

"Not  to  arrest— Hal?" 


Shaken  Confidence  155 

"  No.  We  had  another  search  and  another  pain- 
ful examination  of  Philbric.  We  had  more  sug- 
gestions of  mental  irresponsibility." 

"  From  Graham  ?  "  I  asked  sharply. 

"  Graham !  "  King  looked  at  me.  "  That  sounds 
as  if  you  thought  Doctor  Graham  had  put  forward 
that  theory,"  he  said. 

"  He  did,"  I  answered,  "  to  Hal." 

King's  eyes  examined  my  face  again.  "  Mr. 
Randall,"  he  said,  "  Doctor  Graham  is  too  wise  a 
physician  and  too  old  a  friend  of  the  family  to  make 
such  a  suggestion  about  a  member  of  it.  I  should 
suppose  a  man  of  your  long  intimacy  with  the  Phil- 
brics  would  know  that." 

His  eyes  grew  sharp  as  they  remained  fixed  on 
mine  and  again  I  began  to  resent  his  attitude.  What 
had  changed  him  toward  me?  Had  he  been  told 
the  story  of  my  peculiar  introduction  to  this  house 
of  Philbric  and  did  he  look  upon  me  with  suspicion  ? 
I  could  not  guess,  but  I  did  not  intend  to  give  him 
the  information  myself.  I  gave  the  subject  a  fling 
that  might  lead  us  away  from  the  ground  he  had 
touched. 

"  Graham  said  enough  in  my  hearing  to  show  that 
Hal  had  the  impression  from  him,  Mr.  King,"  I 
said,  and  I  could  not  keep  a  trace  of  coldness  out 
of  my  tone.  "  Besides,"  I  added,  "  he  was  the  only 
friend  with  Philbric  for  an  hour  or  two  after  the 
shooting." 

"  Hal  couldn't  have  had  a  better  one,"  said  King. 


156  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

A  sudden  idea  leaped  into  my  mind.  "  King!  " 
I  exclaimed.  "  Who  was  the  first  person  to  ex- 
amine the  body  of  Clarence  Salver  after  the  shoot- 
ing?" 

We  stood  in  the  road  together  just  at  the  entrance 
gates  to  the  grounds.  We  had  paused  in  our  walk 
toward  the  house,  unconsciously  facing  each  other 
in  quite  natural,  but  wholly  instinctive,  expression 
of  our  mental  attitudes. 

"  Mr.  Randall,"  said  King,  persisting  now  in  the 
formal  address,  "  what  have  you  against  Graham  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  expressed  a  feeling  against  Doctor 
Graham,"  I  answered. 

"  You  have  even  if  unconsciously,"  he  said. 

"  Then  I'll  confess  it,"  I  answered. 

"  And  so  you  would  raise  a  question  against 
him?" 

"  I  have  raised  no  question  against  Graham," 
said  I.  "  I  asked  who  first  examined  Salver's 
body." 

He  still  studied  my  face.  I  was  studying  his  now. 
We  were  almost  combative  and  I  felt  a  vague  sense 
of  regret  over  the  fact  at  the  moment,  for  I  liked 
and  respected  Robert  King. 

"  I  suppose  Hal  himself  or  old  John  Kent,  the 
butler,  must  have  made  the  first  search  for  the  let- 
ters," he  said  slowly  and  with  careful  articulation. 

I  put  my  hand  out  upon  his  shoulder  with  sudden 
impulse  to  break  down  the  misunderstanding  that 
was  rising  between  us.  "  Look  here,  King,"  said  I, 


Shaken  Confidence  157 

"  this  won't  do.  We  are  splitting  apart,  you  and  I. 
You  don't  know  me  but  you  must  take  me  on  faith 
as  a  friend  of  the  family — as  I  take  you." 

"  There  are  no  secrets  about  me,"  he  said,  draw- 
ing away  from  my  hand,  "  and  I  do  not  raise  un- 
warranted suspicions  against  other  friends  of  the 
family,  who  have  been  tried  out  and  found  true." 

"  King,"  said  I,  "  some  one  has  been  poisoning 
your  mind  against  me.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  justify 
myself  till  you  tell  me  frankly  what  you  have  against 
me." 

A  moment's  look  of  uncertainty  clouded  his  eyes, 
but  he  did  not  answer  me  as  frankly  as  I  had  made 
my  question. 

'  You  are  an  utter  stranger  to  me,  Mr.  Randall," 
he  said,  "  and  to  Barnaby,  and  to  Graham."  He 
paused,  then  turned  suddenly  away  from  me. 
"  Shall  we  go  to  the  house  ?  There's  enough  to  do 
there." 

"  I  fancy  we  shall  hear  from  Bain  to-day,"  I 
said,  taking  his  lead,  with  slow  anger  toward  him 
beginning  to  burn  in  my  heart.  I  admit  I  was  not 
reasonable.  But  he  had  spurned  my  attempt  at  an 
understanding. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  replied. 

:'  You  are  out  early,"  I  suggested.  I  meant  still 
to  do  my  share  toward  preserving  amicable  rela- 
tions at  least. 

"  I  was  looking  for  tracks,"  he  answered  abruptly. 

"Tracks?" 


158  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Yes — man  tracks." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  We  are  being  spied  upon  also,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Spies?" 

"  Yes.    The  game  seems  popular." 

There  was  sting  in  this  and  I  felt  it.  My  anger 
rose.  I  began  to  see  that  there  was  more  than  a 
mere  question  as  to  the  length  of  standing  of  my 
friendship  with  the  family  in  his  mind.  My  pride 
stirred.  But  I  held  my  resentment  well  in  hand. 

"  Apparently,"  I  answered  him.  "  You've  seen 
signs  of  them  here?  "  I  queried,  interest  in  this  new 
development  helping  me  to  forget  his  offensive 
manner. 

"  Somebody  has  prowled  about  the  grounds  for 
two  evenings — since  you've  been  gone,"  he  said, 
walking  steadily  along  the  gravel  drive,  without 
looking  at  me.  "  Also,  somebody  has  been  putting 
idiotic,  melodramatic,  but  painfully  disturbing  mes- 
sages in  Hal's  room  in  secret  fashion.  Somebody 
who  is  an  enemy  has  been  playing  worse  havoc  with 
the  boy's  mind  than  any  direct  threat  from  Bain 
could  do." 

My  concern  suddenly  grew  too  deep  for  my  anger 
against  him.  "  King,"  I  exclaimed,  "  what's  that  ? 
Secret  messages?  What — anonymous  notes,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Yes,  anonymous,  of  course,"  he  answered,  but 
he  turned  to  look  at  me  again  with  a  peculiar  flash 
of  the  eye,  <(  Yesterday  morning  the  boy  found 


Shaken  Confidence  159 

a  letter  in  red  ink  on  his  dresser,  bearing  a  crude 
drawing  of  a  man  behind  bars.  At  the  top  were 
the  words,  '  Asylum  for  insane.'  Below  were  the 
boy's  own  initials,  '  H.  P.'  " 

I  listened  incredulous.  This  was  strange  indeed. 
"  Of  course  you  haven't  traced  that  to  a  source  ?  " 

"Of  course  not.  Last  night  there  was  another 
— a  rough  drawing  of  a  grotesquely  wild-looking 
man  laced  in  a  strait-jacket — with  no  explanatory 
captions." 

"  And  there's  no  evidence  as  to  who  brought  it?  " 
asked  I,  fairly  wincing  myself  as  I  thought  of  the 
probable  effect  of  such  a  thing  on  the  sick  boy. 

"  No  evidence."  King  emphasized  the  second 
word,  and  paused.  I  did  not  understand  a  double 
meaning  then  and  merely  waited  for  him  to  con- 
tinue. "  And  last  night  there  was  still  another 
equally  crude  and  equally  brutal — a  figure  tied  upon 
a  bed — with  face  distorted  and  hands  clinched — 
rather  clever  in  a  way — and  the  words,  '  The  Fin- 
ish,' beneath  the  picture." 

I  was  silent.  The  thing  was  at  once  too  exas- 
perating and  too  dismaying  for  me  to  find  ready 
comment. 

We  were  approaching  the  house  now  and  on  the 
veranda  I  saw  Donna  Philbric.  The  sight  of  her 
took  away  my  wish  to  reply  at  the  moment  to  King. 
I  went  forward  and  up  the  steps  to  her  eagerly. 

She  met  me  cordially  enough  to  warm  my  heart 
after  the  frigidity  of  King's  greeting.  She  was 


160  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

pale  and  her  sweet  face  had  evidence  of  pain  and 
anxiety  in  it.  But  the  clasp  of  her  fingers  upon 
mine  meant  friendship  unshaken  by  what  had  clearly 
disturbed  the  confidence  of  the  others.  My  heart 
went  out  to  her  in  sympathy  as  she  smiled  up  bravely 
at  me  and  said  a  kind  good-morning. 

We  went  into  the  house  together,  we  three,  Donna 
between  King  and  me,  with  her  eager  questions 
turned  first  to  me;  and  I  told  her  my  tale  briefly 
as  I  had  told  it  first.  She  led  us  straight  to  the 
breakfast  room  and  we  sat  at  table  while  the  maids 
brought  us  coffee.  Aunt  Charlotte  joined  us,  but 
Hal  had  remained  in  his  room.  There  had  been 
no  repetition  of  the  trick  that  had  been  practised 
against  him  three  times. 

"  I  had  his  room  guarded  last  night,"  explained 
King  succinctly. 

Whether  Donna  noted  the  strained  relations  be- 
tween us,  her  friends,  or  not  I  could  not  tell.  She 
did  not  show  it  and  naturally  the  conversation  was 
immediately  upon  the  newest  feature  of  Hal's 
trouble.  They  told  me  that  nothing  had  been  done 
toward  solving  the  problem  as  to  who  was  guilty 
of  putting  the  "  red  letters,"  as  Donna  called  them, 
in  the  boy's  room.  They  had  tried  to  keep  the 
matter  secret  and  to  detect  the  guilty  person  by 
watching.  It  seemed  that  some  servant  must,  of 
course,  be  the  agent  in  the  conveyance  of  such  mes- 
sages if  they  came  from  outside  enemies,  but  they 
seemed  unable  to  fix  upon  any  one  who  had  ready 


Shaken  Confidence  161 

access  to  the  chambers  as  a  person  who  could  be 
fairly  suspected. 

We  discussed  all  sides  of  the  matter,  but  it  was 
not  till  we  adjourned  to  the  library  and  found  Hal 
there  ahead  of  us  and  painfully  eager  to  take  up 
thorough  investigation  that  we  decided  to  question 
the  servants. 

I  could  not  see  as  I  looked  at  Hal,  who  greeted 
me  almost  joyfully,  that  there  was  material  change 
in  his  appearance.  Indeed,  his  color  was  high  and 
his  eyes  bright  and  he  seemed  stronger  and  more 
quiet  in  manner.  It  was  only  after  some  time  that 
I  began  to  note  the  worst  -symptoms. 

It  was  Donna's  own  suggestion  that  I  as  the  one 
whose  mind  came  freshest  to  the  subject  should 
conduct  the  examination  of  the  servants,  and  I  can- 
not deny  some  gratification  in  that  trifling  matter. 
I  was  ready  enough  to  ask  questions,  certainly,  im- 
patient to  know  and  to  deal  out  punishment  to  the 
offender,  and  to  extract  such  comfort  for  Hal  as  we 
could  from  any  revelations  we  might  produce.  So 
I  accepted  the  task  somewhat  to  King's  satisfaction, 
I  now  believe. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
HEARTS  INSURGENT 

TT7E  began  with  old  John,  but  not  because  we 
suspected  him.  Certainly  we  did  not.  But 
he  it  was  who  was  chief  of  the  servants  and  who 
was  conversant  with  all  that  had  occurred.  John 
was  a  sure  ally.  He  had  been  with  the  family  from 
the  time  when  Congdon  Philbric,  Hal's  father,  had 
brought  home  his  bride  when  the  big  house  was 
new.  His  loyalty  had  been  tried  and  proved.  And 
we  began  by  taking  him  into  our  confidence. 

"  John/'  I  said  to  him  when  the  vigorous  old  fel- 
low came  at  Donna's  call  and  stood  before  us,  "  have 
you  seen  the  notes  Mr.  Philbric  has  received?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered  promptly  with  an  invol- 
untary quick  glance  at  Hal. 

"  All  right  then,  you  understand  exactly  what  has 
happened,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  sir." 

His  eyes  were  a  good  gray  of  the  sort  I  like.  I 
have  never  known  a  man  with  that  sort  of  gray  eye 
who  was  not  truthful  and  a  fighter,  no  matter  what 
his  station  in  life. 

"  Did  any  strangers  come  about  yesterday  or  to- 
day, John  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

162 


Hearts  Insurgent  163 

He  looked  at  me  slightly  puzzled.  "  Why,  I 
suppose  so,  sir.  There's  always  a  stranger  or  two 
here  during  a  day.  Beggars  will  stop  and  there's 
plenty  of  delivery  boys  and  occasional  workmen 
about  the  place  who  don't  regularly  belong  here.  I 
s'pose  you'd  call  them  strangers,  sir." 

"  Could  any  one  whom  you  do  not  know — any  one 
of  these  strangers — have  had  access  to  the  room  Hal 
occupies,  John,  at  the  times  when  servants  were  not 
about?" 

He  paused  to  consider.  His  eyes  went  from 
face  to  face  of  us  for  a  clue  to  our  purpose  or  our 
suspicions.  It  was  clear  that  he  had  no  guilty  knowl- 
edge of  the  thing. 

"  I  won't  say  it  isn't  possible,  Mr.  Randall,"  he 
replied,  after  a  moment  so.  Then  he  asked  his 
question  frankly.  "  What  do  you  suspect,  sir?  " 

I  took  the  "  red  letters "  which  Donna  had 
brought  me  from  the  table  where  she  had  put  them 
and  held  them  out  to  him. 

"  These,  John,  were  put  in  Hal's  room  by  some- 
body either  stranger  or  servant.  They  were  found 
on  the  dresser.  Hal  thinks  they  were  intended  for 
him  by  his  enemies." 

He  took  the  things  and  glanced  at  them,  then  read 
the  letters  over  slowly.  His  eyes  widened  a  little. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  could  a  stranger,  or  anybody 
at  all,  get  into  the  house  and  up  to  Hal's  room, — 
which  has  always  been  Hal's,  has  it  not? — and  leave 
these  things  and  get  away  again  unseen?  " 


164  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

He  hesitated  again  for  a  second's  time.  "  Well, 
Mr.  Randall,  this  house  hasn't  been  no  guarded  fort, 
you  know.  We  haven't  been  looking  for  spies  and 
fellows  like  that.  But  I  think  it  would  be  a  fairly 
hard  thing  to  do  what  you  say." 

"  The  room  is  a  front  room  on  the  main  hall?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  maids  or  somebody  have  been  constantly 
in  the  halls?" 

"  I  should  think  so,  sir." 

"  Doesn't  it  imply  a  servant's  knowledge  of  the 
house  to  be  able  to  accomplish  such  a  thing?  "  sug- 
gested Donna. 

"  Not  if  somebody  outside  were  in  collusion  with 
a  servant,"  said  Hal  himself. 

Old  John  nodded.  "  It  would  be  easy  for  a  man 
outside  to  get  information  if  he  could  get  help, 
Miss  Donna." 

"  Then  it's  conceivable  that  our  enemy  has  an 
accomplice  here  among  the  servants,"  said  I. 
"  Let's  start  on  that  basis.  Now,  who  is  it  ?  " 

Old  John  shook  his  head  and  both  Donna  and 
Hal  looked  helpless. 

"  I  don't  know  one  on  whom  I'm  willing  to  cast 
a  suspicion,"  said  the  girl  anxiously.  "  They  all 
seem  to  be  good,  faithful,  honest  people." 

"  How  about  that  French  maid  that  helps  Mrs. 
Griggs  in  the  linen  room?"  asked  Aunt  Charlotte 
suddenly. 

Donna's  eyes  came  quickly  to  mine,  pained  with 


Hearts  Insurgent  165 

the  thought  of  charging  duplicity  against  any  of 
the  household ;  but  I  took  my  cue  from  the  fact  that 
she  was  not  ready  with  defense  of  the  maid. 

"  How  about  her,  John  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Not  that 
we  intend  to  charge  anybody  with  this,  you  under- 
stand ;  but  we  must  search  each  possibility,  and  do  it 
quickly." 

Old  John  was  considering.  "  She's  been  here  a 
year  and  over,  sir,"  he  said.  "  She  has  done  good 
work.  She's  a  bit  flighty  but  I've  never  known 
her  to  have  any  acquaintance  in  the  village  beyond 
a  girl  or  two.  I  don't  know  that  she's  even  ever 
heard  of  Judson  Bain." 

"  I've  never  liked  the  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Philbric 
positively. 

"  I've  always  been  rather  sorry  for  her,"  said 
Donna.  "  She  doesn't  seem  to  have  many  friends 
anywhere.  The  servants  don't  seem  to  have  taken 
to  her  and  Mrs.  Griggs,  the  housekeeper,  is  rather 
hard  upon  her,  I  think." 

"  Where  does  she  work  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  In  the  linen-room  and  the  laundry,"  answered 
Aunt  Charlotte. 

"  She  handles  all  the  linen  practically  all  the 
time,"  put  in  John. 

"  The  laundry's  in  the  basement?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Donna.  "  The  linen-room  is  on  this 
first  floor,  at  the  side.  It's — it's  near  the  little  side 
door  that  leads  to  the  garage  path  across  the  east 
lawn." 


166  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

She  looked  again  at  me  anxiously  and  I  could 
see  that  her  active  mind  was  swifter  in  contempla- 
tion of  possibilities  than  the  rest  of  us. 

"  Has  she  seemed  kindly  disposed  toward  the 
family?" 

'  Xot  toward  me,"  said  Hal.  "  I  wouldn't  have 
her  about  my  study  when  she  first  came  here  and 
was  made  second  chambermaid.  She  fingered  my 
papers  too  much.  That's  why  Mrs.  Griggs  put 
her  in  the  linen-room.  I  guess  she  suspected 
I  didn't  like  her  and  she  has  always  kept  shy  of 
me." 

"  Why,"  said  Donna  abruptly,  "  I  noticed  that, 
too." 

Old  John  shifted  from  foot  to  foot. 

•  I  think  she's  only  afraid  of  you,  Mr.  Hal,"  he 
volunteered.  "  She's  timid." 

"  Is  there  anybody  else  who  could  be  thought  of 
in  this  connection  ?  "  I  asked. 

No  one  spoke.  Hal  abruptly  lay  back  in  his  chair 
with  his  eyes  closed,  looking  very  tired.  Donna 
turned  to  watch  him  apprehensively  at  the  move- 
ment. Mrs.  Philbric  put  her  glasses  down  from 
where  they  had  rested  high  on  her  forehead  and 
rose  to  her  feet.  She  busied  herself  a  moment  about 
the  table,  then  motioned  to  John  with  her  head  and 
started  for  the  door. 

"  Wait,"  she  said  sententiously  to  me  as  she 
passed. 

Donna  went  to  Hal's  side.     "  Dear,"  she  said, 


Hearts  Insurgent  167 

"don't  you  want  to  go  and  rest  now?  All  this 
detail  shouldn't  he  allowed  to  tire  you  out." 

The  hoy  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled  as  she  1><  ni 
over  him.  Then  he  reached  up  and  drew  her  face 
down  heside  his  own  and  she  sank  on  her  knees 
at  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

Both  turned  toward  me  and  the  movement 
brought  their  faces  side  by  side  in  exactly  the  same 
light.  In  the  instant  I  fairly  started  at  the  amazing 
likeness  of  them.  The  girl's  hair  was  dressed  low 
and  smooth  about  her  fine  head  in  the  prevailing 
mode.  Hal's  was  soft  and  fine  and  he  had  ruffled 
it  slightly  with  his  fingers.  The  effect  was  such 
that,  with  the  color  now  in  Hal's  face,  the  one 
head  seemed  to  have  been  cast  in  the  identical 
mold  of  the  other.  I  laughed  and  told  them 
so. 

"If  you  were  both  men  or  both  girls  it  wouldn't 
be  hard  for  you  to  impersonate  each  other,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"  We  used  to  do  it  successfully  years  ago  in  pri- 
vate theatricals,"  ans\\<  v< d  Donna,  looking  at  King, 
whose  silence  was  growing  noticeable.  "  Now  make 
Hal  go  and  rest,  Bob,"  she  added.  "  He  -Ixmldn't 
be  worn  out  with  all  this.  We'll  tell  you  the  whole 
of  it  when  we  find  out  anything.  Hal." 

The  boy  rose  slowly  from  his  chair.  "  I'll  go, 
sis,"  he  answered  for  himself.  "  I'm  the  least  useful 
person  about  in  this  miserable  pickle  of  mine."  He 
laughed  up  into  my  face  as  I  rose  beside  him  but  I 


1 68  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

saw  the  white  line  along  the  edge  of  his  lips  again 
and  my  response  was  not  hilarious. 

"  Do  as  your  sister  wants  you  to,  old  boy,"  I 
told  him.  "  We  are  going  to  put  up  a  good  fight  for 
you.  The  best  way  I  know  to  fight  is  to  carry  the 
war  into  the  enemy's  country.  We  won't  stop  with 
defense  alone.  Men  like  this  Bain  and  Scancey  can 
be  reached  and  we'll  reach  'em  hard,  too." 

I  had  no  conception  what  our  fight  would  be,  but 
I  have  yet  to  see  the  just  cause  in  which  no  blow 
can  be  struck  at  the  enemy. 

An  instant  after  King  rose  to  his  feet.  "  I  think 
I'll  go  up  with  the  boy,"  he  said.  "  Excuse  me,  will 
you,  Donna?  " 

The  girl  turned  back  toward  me,  her  sweet  face 
alight  with  kindly  thankfulness  to  me.  "  That  helps 
him  more  than  anything  else,"  she  said,  coming  to 
the  table  beside  which  I  sat. 

"  I'll  help  him  all  I  can,"  I  answered  her  sin- 
cerely enough. 

Her  slender  hands  rested  on  the  mahogany.  They 
were  within  the  reach  of  my  own  and  a  sudden 
rush  of  tenderness  toward  her  suggested  wild 
thoughts.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  have 
ever  seen  and  her  sweetly  gentle  mood  of  gratitude 
toward  me  for  loyalty  to  her  brother  roused  danger- 
ous response  in  me.  I  am  human.  I  could  have 
seized  her  in  my  arms  then  and  cried  out  love  to 
her.  I  looked  up  into  her  face  steadily  as  I  could 
and  spoke  of  Hal. 


Hearts  Insurgent  169 

"  He's  in  a  trap,"  I  said,  "  but  a  man  trapped 
is  not  a  man  caught  necessarily."  And  I  smiled 
at  a  recollection  of  my  own. 

"  Tell  me  one  way  to  fight  them.  It  will  help  me 
to  hope,"  she  said,  and  the  tears  welled  slowly  up 
in  her  eyes. 

"  We  will  fight  any  way  to  win,"  I  answered. 
"  When  you  face  an  unscrupulous  enemy  you  can 
strike  as  hard  as  you  like.  We  are  going  to  find 
that  girl  or  those  letters  and  we'll  send  Judson  Bain 
to  the  pen." 

"And  if  we  can't?" 

"  If  there's  an  '  if  '  in  it  that  I  don't  see  now  and 
the  deal  goes  against  us,  I'll  run  away  with  Hal 
myself  and  take  him  into  hiding  in  the  mountains 
till  the  cards  are  in  our  hands  again." 

"Won't  they  arrest  Hal?" 

"  They'll  summon  him  to  court  probably.  But 
they'll  take  bond  for  his  appearance  or  arrange  for 
a  test  of  his  sanity,  and " 

I  stopped.  She  had  suddenly  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  "  Oh,"  she  whispered,  "  I  know 
what  they  mean  to  do!  They  mean  to  break  him 
down  by  the  very  test  itself.  He  can't  stand  it  and 
they  know  it.  They'll  drive  him — oh,  they'll  drive 
him  actually  insane." 

I  rose  and  stood  beside  her.  "  They  won't,"  I 
said.  "  That  may  be  their  game,  but  I  won't  let  it 
come  to  that  if  I  have  to  go  to  Judson  Bain  with 
something  besides  a  writ  of  injunction!" 


170  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

She  withdrew  her  hands  and  looked  up  at  me, 
a  long,  earnest,  searching  look.  It  was  the  sort  of 
gaze  that  would  have  taken  the  heart  out  of  bluff  or 
bluster,  but  I  had  no  notion  of  either.  I  knew  that 
I  would  not  let  Hal  Philbric's  enemies  touch  him 
so  irretrievably  if  my  strength  and  my  life  could 
be  his  buckler,  and  I  would  have  dared  much  for 
the  smile  that  grew  in  that  dear  girl's  eyes  as  she 
measured  my  earnestness  and  believed.  I  sicken  at 
heroics  and  I  despise  bravado,  but  who  would  not 
promise — and  fulfil — who  had  an  ounce  of  fighting 
blood  for  such  cause? 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  mine.  '  You 
are  a  good  friend,  Dan  Randall.  I  know  what  you 
would  do,"  she  answered. 

Her  courage  came  back  then.  She  smiled  more 
lightly  and  moved  to  her  chair  while  I  sat  once  more 
with  my  heart  pounding  a  wild  drumming  in  my 
ears.  Her  touch  had  been  like  fire  to  me  again  and 
I  had  not  dared  to  turn  my  hand  to  grasp  her  gentle 
fingers.  When  Mrs.  Philbric  returned  presently 
alone  we  were  sitting  wordless,  each  buried  in  indi- 
vidual thought.  Hers  I  do  not  know  and  mine  I 
shall  not  repeat. 


CHAPTER  XV 
A  LONG-ARMED  ENEMY 

"  T  T  is  very  curious,"  said  Aunt  Charlotte  as  she 
•*•  came  back  to  us.  "  Donna,  Aileen  has  gone 
out  for  the  day.  Aileen  is  the  maid  we  spoke  of, 
Mr.  Randall.  Mrs.  Griggs  and  I  have  been  to  her 
room.  We  opened  a  drawer  or  two  in  her  dresser 
at  random — and  we  found  this." 

She  held  out  a  slip  of  paper  to  me  and  I  took 
it  curiously.  It  was  a  small  square  sheet  about  as 
large  as  a  common  square  envelope  and  considerably 
soiled.  On  it  in  red  ink  was  traced  what  seemed 
to  be  a  design  of  some  sort  but  quite  blind  to  me. 
I  studied  it  an  instant,  then  handed  it  to  Donna, 
who  had  risen  to  look. 

"  More  red  ink,"  I  said. 

"What  is  it?" 

But  Donna  took  the  reply  from  her  aunt's  lips. 
"  Why !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It's  a  plan — of  the  paths 
in  the  grounds.  I'd  know  it  anywhere  because  I 
used  to  pore  over  it  when  I  was  a  little  girl  when 
the  architects'  drawings  used  to  be  in  father's  office. 
But  I  haven't  seen  it  for  years." 

We  looked  at  each  other  rather  blankly.  What 
connection  had  this  odd  find  with  our  quest?  Had 

171 


172  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

it  any  whatever?  Might  it  not  be  evidence  of  what 
we  feared?  Might  it  not,  on  the  other  hand,  be 
the  most  innocent  bit  of  memorandum? 

"  But  why  red  ?  "  It  was  Donna  who  put  the 
question  as  if  her  mind  had  arrived  at  that  point 
in  very  unison  with  mine. 

"  Just  so,"  said  Aunt  Charlotte. 

"  It  matches  the  '  red  letters.'  " 

"  It  does." 

"  But  red  ink  is  almost  as  common  as  black." 

''  Yes.  But  the  only  red  ink  in  the  house  is  in 
Mrs.  Griggs'  room,  I  believe."  Mrs.  Philbric  com- 
pressed her  lips  at  conclusion  of  her  sentences. 
Clearly  she  was  predisposed  to  believe  that  some- 
thing about  this  girl,  whom  she  did  not  like,  would 
be  found  to  need  explaining. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Griggs  know  where  she  is  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes — that  is,  Aileen  told  the  housekeeper  she 
was  going  to  the  village.  She  will  come  back  to- 
night. Each  of  the  servants  has  a  day  off  each 
week." 

It  was  just  at  this  point  that  the  arrival  of  Bar- 
naby  at  the  house  interrupted  us.  He  came  in  hearty 
and  cheerful  with  a  tonic-like  assurance  of  manner 
that  seemed  good  to  me.  He  had  come  to  tell  us 
a  trifle  of  good  news,  too.  This  was  that  no  move 
would  be  made  that  day  by  our  enemies.  He  had 
seen  the  coroner  and  had  suggested  an  autopsy  as 
a  means  of  delay,  and  the  official,  who  had  known 


A  Long- Armed  Enemy  173 

Hal  from  boyhood  and  who  had  no  love  for  Judson 
Bain  or  Wheeler  Scancey,  had  directed  that  this 
formality  be  carried  out.  The  curious  non-appear- 
ance of  Bain,  too,  who  had  been  expected  to  push 
the  charge  against  Hal,  made  delay  possible,  for 
Scancey  would  not  make  the  accusation  and  the 
verdict  of  the  jury  could  still  be  held  off  on  the 
plea  of  lack  of  evidence. 

Barnaby's  greeting  to  me  was  frank  and  friendly. 
He  asked  a  few  quick,  sharp  questions  about  Bain 
and  he  only  laughed  when  I  disclosed  enough  of 
my  adventure — to  him  alone — to  show  why  Bain 
had  not  put  in  an  appearance  in  Hazelhurst.  He  did 
not  seem  disposed  to  entertain  prejudice  against  me. 
And  he  welcomed  the  news  about  the  lost  girl  in 
a  way  that  made  me  hope  he  would  get  results 
from  that.  He  immediately  put  into  words  the 
thing  I  had  been  feeling  more  and  more  strongly — 
that  Bain  must  have  a  keen  fear  indeed  of  what 
Luella  Westfall  might  tell,  or  he  would  not  be  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  keep  her  hidden.  He  was  un- 
doubtedly busied  with  that  task  now,  too,  or  I  had 
been  unbelievably  deceived. 

My  news  had  the  effect  of  sending  the  lawyer 
hastily  back  to  town,  however,  and  I  was  not  dis- 
pleased that  King,  who  had  spent  the  night  at  The 
Hazels,  decided  to  go  in  with  him.  The  latter 
promised  to  return  later  in  the  day.  When  they 
had  gone  I  spent  an  hour  with  Hal,  who  kept  to 
his  room,  and  talked  to  him  of  the  most  cheering 


174  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

things  I  could  think  of  till  he  showed  again  that 
he  was  weary. 

It  was  when  I  left  him  to  go  downstairs  again, 
with  just  a  hope  of  a  possible  talk  with  Donna, 
that  a  new  strange  thing  occurred.  I  went  out  into 
the  wide  upper  hall  on  which  Hal's  room  faced. 
It  was  but  a  step  or  two  to  my  own  room  and  I 
thought  to  run  in  there  for  a  moment  to  get  some 
camp  photographs  I  had  brought  from  a  recent 
expedition  into  the  Northwest.  I  thought  Donna 
might  find  some  pleasure  in  them.  Besides,  I  was 
debating  a  matter  in  my  own  mind  concerning  camp- 
life  in  the  mountains  for  Hal.  We  might  be  forced 
to  run  away  from  this  thing.  It  had  occurred  to 
me  that  the  pictures  might  interest  Donna  in  that 
scheme  as  a  hope,  too,  to  keep  her  from  deep  fore- 
bodings. 

As  I  approached  the  room,  however,  I  heard  a 
sound  inside.  Stopping  to  listen  I  gained  the  im- 
pression that  one  of  the  maids  must  be  at  work 
there.  Not  wishing  to  disturb  her  I  turned  back 
and  started  downstairs.  I  had  barely  descended  a 
half  dozen  step  when  there  was  a  sharp  little  crash 
that  I  instantly  located  in  my  room  and  I  paused 
again.  Then  in  a  flash  it  occurred  to  me  that  it 
could  do  no  harm  to  look. 

I  mounted  slowly  and  softly.  I  was  not  con- 
scious that  I  had  previously  made  any  great  noise  on 
the  heavy  hall  carpets,  and  an  instinct  to  caution, 
explainable  enough,  held  me.  I  crept  back  to  the 


A  Long- Armed  Enemy  175 

head  of  the  stairs  and  then  around  to  the  half-open 
door  of  the  chamber  and  looked  in.  In  the  first 
instant  I  saw  nothing  extraordinary.  In  the  next 
the  curtains  before  an  open  window  blew  in  with  a 
wide  trailing  sweep  in  the  current  of  a  vigorous 
breeze.  I  could  see  nothing  that  suggested  the  pres- 
ence of  a  person,  however,  and  I  pushed  the  door 
wide  and  stepped  in. 

Instantly  I  became  aware  of  a  faint  odor  that 
I  knew  for  stale  cigarette  smoke.  I  do  not  smoke 
cigarettes  and  I  abominate  the  stench  of  them,  but 
it  is  familiar  enough.  There  had  been  no  cigarettes 
smoked  in  my  room  to  my  knowledge  since  my 
arrival,  and  the  odor  was  not  the  sort  that  would 
carry  far  on  such  a  boisterous  breeze  as  this  that 
was  blowing  in  now. 

But  while  I  sniffed  at  the  offensive  smell  and 
looked  for  a  trace  of  a  smoker  I  saw  on  the  floor 
by  the  window  a  small  glass  vase  lying  broken  be- 
side the  wainscot.  It  had  been  on  the  dresser  which 
stood  close  by  the  open  casement.  First  thought 
would  naturally  be  that  the  swinging  curtain  had 
drifted  against  it  and  knocked  it  off.  But  as  I 
glanced  at  the  place  where  it  had  stood  I  saw  that 
this  was  improbable.  The  very  closeness  of  the 
dresser  to  the  window  forced  the  blowing  curtain 
to  slip  aside  and  swing  around  the  front  of  the 
massive  piece  of  furniture,  and  my  own  dressing- 
case  stood  on  the  end  of  the  dresser  in  such  a  way 
that  it  would  seem  to  protect  the  vase. 


176  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  crossed  to  the  window  and  picked  up  the  broken 
glass.  Then  I  looked  about.  I  had  almost  a  con- 
viction that  some  one  had  been  in  the  room.  There 
was  one  door  besides  the  one  into  the  hall  that 
might  serve  as  an  exit.  I  went  to  it  quickly  and 
tried  it.  It  was  locked.  I  turned.  There  were  only 
two  other  doors  in  the  room.  One  led  to  a  com- 
modious closet  and  the  other  to  the  bath.  No  one 
who  would  try  to  run  away  from  me  would  be 
likely  to  seek  hiding  there.  The  impression  that 
the  door  I  had  tried  was  locked  on  the  other  side, 
too,  was  strong  upon  me.  I  decided  quickly  to 
investigate. 

I  stepped  into  the  hall  and  to  the  door  of  the 
next  room.  I  knew  it  to  be  an  unoccupied  chamber, 
for  I  had  noticed  it  before.  But  as  I  entered  I 
came  upon  Mrs.  Griggs,  the  housekeeper,  standing 
by  the  door  which  evidently  was  the  one  I  had  just 
tried. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said  quickly  when  she  saw  me,  "  it 
was  you,  was  it  ?  " 

"  I  just  tried  the  door,"  I  answered.  "  Were  you 
the  one  who  was  in  my  room  just  now?  " 

"Just  now?"  She  looked  puzzled.  "No,  sir. 
I  haven't  been  in  there  yet.  Hasn't  the  maid  done 
the  work?" 

"  I  didn't  notice,"  said  I.  "  But  somebody  was 
in  there  a  moment  ago,  I  think.  I  got  the  impres- 
sion that  he  or  she  came  out  through  this  door." 

She  looked  at  me  incredulously.    Then  she  turned 


A  Long- Armed  Enemy  177 

and  pointed.  "  No,"  she  replied.  "  It's  locked  on 
this  side."  A  heavy  brass  bolt  was  the  fastening. 

"  But  he  could  have  pushed  the  bolt  home,"  I 
suggested. 

"  But  no  one  has  come  through  this  way,"  she 
answered.  "  In  the  first  place  the  door-lock  itself 
is  fastened  and  there  is  no  key  here,  as  we  never  use 
this  door.  Besides,  I've  been  here  in  the  room 
myself  for  fifteen  minutes,  at  least." 

It  was  convincing  enough.  I  turned  without  ex- 
planation and  ran  back  to  my  own  room.  It  was 
still  as  if  no  one  had  entered  it  at  all.  But  the  same 
faint  odor  of  cigarettes  was  in  the  air.  I  went  to 
the  bath  and  to  the  closet  and  looked  in  per- 
functorily. The  bath-room  was  alight  with  the 
sunshine  that  came  through  wide  windows,  and 
empty.  The  closet,  in  which  I  turned  on  an  electric 
light,  contained  only  my  own  clothing. 

I  went  back  and  looked  out  the  windows.  It 
was  full  twenty  feet  to  the  lawn  below  and  there 
was  no  ledge  or  other  foothold  for  a  possible 
climber.  I  began  to  wonder  if  my  own  nerves  were 
getting  overwrought.  But  Mrs.  Griggs  had  fol- 
lowed me  solicitously  to  the  door  of  the  room  and 
I  spoke  to  her. 

"  Smell  cigarettes?  "  I  asked.  She  nodded,  sniff- 
ing. I  pointed  to  the  broken  vase  which  I  had 
laid  on  the  dresser.  "  That  lay  under  the  window 
just  now,"  I  told  her.  "  I  heard  it  fall  from  the 
hall  and  came  to  look.  There's  where  it  stood,"  I 


178  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

added,  pointed  out  the  exact  position  on  the  dresser- 
top.  "  Could  this  blowing  curtain  have  raked  it 
off?" 

She  studied  the  movement  of  the  lacey  folds  as 
they  swept  in  before  the  breeze.  "  It  doesn't  seem 
so,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  <f  we've  got  a  full-sized  puzzler 
here  sure,  or  I'm  getting  stupid.  Which  is  it  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  solemnly  with  literal  applica- 
tion of  my  words.  She  was  English.  "  You  are 
not  stupid,  Mr.  Randall." 

I  laughed  in  spite  of  my  rather  angry  mystifica- 
tion over  my  problem.  "  Think  not  ?  I've  been 
known  to  be,  Mrs.  Griggs." 


CHAPTER  XVI 
WOUNDS  OF  A  FRIEND 

~p\ONNA  was  not  in  the  house  when  I  went 
-*-'  downstairs  to  find  her.  She  and  her  aunt 
had  gone  out.  So  I  set  about  an  exploration  of  the 
grounds.  Surely  our  enemies'  movements  were 
shrouded  in  darkness  and  they  were  taking  mys- 
terious means  to  compass  their  ends.  Their  game 
was  too  diabolically  dangerous  a  one  to  treat  the 
slightest  evidence  of  their  movements  lightly,  or  I 
would  have  laughed  at  the  cheap  trick  of  the  anony- 
mous notes.  But,  distressing  as  these  messages 
seemed  to  have  been  to  Hal,  they  were  infuriating 
to  me  and  my  fingers  tingled  to  lay  hold  upon  both 
principal  and  agent  in  the  perpetration  of  this  out- 
rage. 

I  made  a  round  of  the  grounds  and  later  of  the 
house,  under  guidance  of  old  John,  whom  I  pressed 
into  service.  I  spent  most  of  the  remainder  of  the 
morning  at  this,  with  my  thoughts  partly  upon  this 
and  partly  on  the  occurrences  of  the  past  day  or 
two.  I  remembered  Judson  Bain  and  the  alarm 
raised  at  Cold  Spring  and  I  wondered  how  the 
pepper-filled  eyes  were  thriving.  He  would  kill  me 

179 


180  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

for  that  trick  if  he  ever  had  the  chance,  I  was 
confident. 

As  Donna  was  still  absent  and  Hal  was  reported 
to  be  asleep  I  was  served  a  somewhat  lonely 
luncheon.  When  that  was  over  I  went  to  look  over 
stables  and  garage,  for  there  was  nothing  more  I 
could  do  now  till  my  friends  returned,  or  till  even- 
ing gave  me  opportunity  for  the  execution  of  a 
fresh  plan.  It  was  while  I  was  at  the  garage  that 
I  saw  King's  car  brought  round  from  the  front 
and  knew  he  was  back  again,  so  I  stayed  away  the 
longer  for  that  reason.  I  did  not  know  that  Donna 
had  also  returned  and  that  I  might  be  in  request, 
but  I  loitered  about,  thinking  that  I  would  give 
King  a  chance  to  find  some  entertainment  or  employ- 
ment for  himself  before  I  should  go  in.  Then  I 
could  leave  him  without  gratuitous  discourtesy  and 
follow  my  own  devices. 

It  came  as  a  surprise  to  me,  therefore,  when,  as 
I  was  walking  in  one  of  the  paths  along  the  outer 
boundary  of  the  immediate  house-grounds,  I  heard 
the  voices  of  Donna  and  of  King  together  and 
looked  out  through  the  trees  to  see  them  both 
mounted  and  riding  side  by  side  in  the  road  outside 
the  palings.  Evidently  they  had  ordered  the  horses 
within  the  past  few  minutes  and  were  off  for  a  jaunt 
together. 

My  altered  feeling  toward  King  naturally  did  not 
improve  as  I  saw  the  position  he  held  with  the  girl. 
I  had  no  right  to  indulge  a  feeling  of  jealousy,  of 


Wounds  of  a  Friend  181 

course,  for  my  own  position,  so  far  as  anything 
nearer  than  friendship  to  Donna  Philbric  was  con- 
cerned, was  simply  nil.  But  when  did  jealousy  base 
itself  upon  reason?  Perhaps  that  malady  will  seek 
such  foundation  when  love  itself  takes  sober  judg- 
ment and  grave  selection  as  its  guides.  And  jealous 
I  was — of  King — because  I  could  not  look  upon 
Donna  Philbric  and  choose  not  to  love  her.  Four 
days  ago  I  had  seen  her  first,  but  in  my  own  heart 
there  was  no  wonder  at  the  fact  of  my  passion — for 
passion  it  had  become.  I  loved  the  girl  and  knew  it. 
And  I  knew  King  loved  her  and  that  he  stood  first 
— so  far  above  me,  indeed,  that  my  hope  was 
faint. 

I  stood  in  the  shrubbery  beside  the  high  iron 
palings  and  watched  them  ride  away  toward  the 
nearer  hills.  They  rode  close  together  and  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  man's  attitude.  Without  the 
earlier  glimpse  I  had  had  of  them  in  close  intimacy 
the  very  bend  of  his  head  to  her  as  he  reined  his 
mount  in  toward  hers  would  have  told  me  the  story. 
And  he  was  a  fine  chap,  too,  was  King.  Despite  his 
cold  lack  of  confidence  in  me  I  could  not  deny  that. 
I  turned  away  as  they  rounded  a  bend  of  the  road 
and  passed  out  of  sight,  and  I  made  my  way  back 
to  the  house  with  the  feeling  that  my  life  had 
suddenly  lost  its  savor. 

I  went  in  and  up  the  stairs  to  my  room.  Then 
the  thought  of  Hal  took  me  to  him.  I  went  to  get 
away  from  myself  then.  I  found  the  boy  awake 


1 82  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

and  sitting  silent  and  very  quiet  in  his  room  in  his 
odd  costume  of  coat  and  cap. 

"  Hello,  old  man,"  said  I  from  his  doorway. 
"Had  a  good  rest?" 

He  looked  up  with  his  smile  sweet  as  a  girl's. 
"  I've  been  going  over  it  again  and  again,  Ran- 
dall," he  said,  "  and  I  seem  to  remember  every  de- 
tail." 

"Of  the  fight,  Philbric?" 

"  Yes.    Do  you  want  to  listen  ?  " 

"  I  do  indeed." 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  clearly  I  can  see  the  details. 
I  can  see  Punk  Salver's  tobacco-stained  lips  that 
always  sagged  around  his  teeth  with  a  droop  as  if 
the  muscles  were  too  weak  to  hold  them  up.  I  can 
see  just  how  they  formed  the  words  when  he  said, 
'  Them  letters  there,  Hal,  will  send  Old  Jud  Bain 
and  Scancey  to  the  pen.' ' 

"  Yes,"  answered  I,  looking  into  his  clear  eyes 
and  wondering  how  we  could  fear  at  any  time  for 
his  mental  stamina. 

"  I  can  see  him  as  he  held  those  letters  before 
me,"  went  on  the  boy.  "  They  trembled  so  I  had  to 
put  my  own  hands  on  them  to  steady  them,  and  I 
can  remember  just  how  he  jerked  away,  afraid  I  was 
going  to  get  them  from  him.  Randall,  I  can  remem- 
ber Punk's  very  thumbs — his  dirty,  stubby  thumbs 
at  the  edges  of  the  sheets  as  he  held  them." 

"  You  have  a  strong  visualizing  power." 

"  Yes.    But  would  I  remember  such  things — such 


Wounds  of  a  Friend  '183 

details — if  the  thing  were  a  dream — if  I  had  only 
imagined  the  letters?  " 

"  Nonsense,  man.  Your  eyes  and  memory  and 
judgment  are  as  sound  as  any  one's." 

"  Dan,"  he  said,  for  the  first  time  speaking  my 
given  name  alone,  "  I  can  remember  so  many  things 
like  that.  I  remember  just  how  ashy  pale  old  John 
was  when  he  came  into  the  library,  except  for  the  red 
mark  on  his  forehead  where  he  had  struck  his  head 
when  he  fell  down  in  the  hall.  Poor  old  boy,  he  was 
hurt,  too,  I  guess.  And  I  remember  how  he  went  to 
Salver's  body  lying  on  the  rug  and  how  he  started 
as  if  he  had  burned  his  fingers  when  I  told  him 
sharply  to  let  it  alone  till  we  could  get  the  doctor. 
I  even  remember  how  he  turned  around  half  dazed 
while  I  told  him  what  had  happened — and  his  hands 
commenced  doing  little  things  around  the  table  me- 
chanically— closing  books,  and  straightening  things 
up  according  to  his  habit.  I  can  remember  how  his 
hand  trembled,  too,  when  he  put  the  cover  on  my 
tobacco  jar  on  the  table,  so  that  he  made  a  regular 
tattoo.  I  had  had  the  jar  open  testing  the  tobacco, 
which  I  thought  was  drying  out  since  the  doctor 
made  me  stop  smoking." 

'  You  saw  all  the  details  with  unusual  clear- 
ness," said  I.  "  That  oftens  happens  when  people 
are  under  very  great  excitement." 

"  I  seemed  to  think  of  all  the  things  I  should  think 
of,  too,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  can't  see  now  what  I 
could  have  done  that  I  didn't  do." 


184  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  I  think  you  showed  remarkably  good  judg- 
ment," I  assented. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Hal,  "  those  letters  are  utterly 
lost."  He  looked  at  me  with  a  query  rising  in  his 
dark  eyes  again.  "  Randall,  they  were  there  in 
Punk's  hands — under  those  dirty  thumbs — and  then 
when  Doctor  Graham  searched  him  they  were 
gone." 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  Graham  searched  him,  did  he?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Philbric.  "  The  doctor  was  the 
first  and  only  person  to  touch  him  except  myself. 
And  Salver  hadn't  left  the  room  or  had  any  chance 
to  remove  the  letters." 

"  I  understand  that  much,"  I  replied.  "  I  can't 
fathom  the  secret  of  their  present  whereabouts." 

:t  They  are  in  that  room  yet,"  said  Hal. 

"  If  somebody  isn't  a  traitor." 

I  looked  to  see  the  effect  of  my  words.  The  boy 
stared  at  me  with  slowly  widening  eyes. 

"  John  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  he  said  and  shook  his  head.  "  John  is  as 
faithful  as  my  shadow." 

"  Who  else,  then  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Somebody  in  this 
house  is  tricking  us  with  these  ridiculous  '  red  let- 
ters.' " 

"  Yes ;  but,  Randall,  those  letters  come  by  means 
of  hands,  and  nobody  entered  that  room  from  the 
time  Punk  fell  except  John  and  Doctor  Graham,  till 
the  coroner  came." 


Wounds  of  a  Friend  185 

"  Could  Graham — have  missed  the  letters  ?  "  I 
questioned  slowly. 

Philbric's  eyes  scanned  my  face  with  sudden 
sharpness.  "  Dan !  "  he  said  with  the  accent  of 
remonstrance. 

"Nobody  is  infallible!" 

"  I  know.  But  that  wasn't  what  your  tone  im- 
plied." 

"  If  only  Doctor  Graham  touched  Salver,"  said  I, 
"  we  must  examine  Graham's  entire  reliability." 

"  Why,  man,  he  has  been  our  family  physician  for 
years." 

"  All  right.  That  puts  him  above  suspicion  as 
a  searcher  for  lost  evidence,  does  it  ?  " 

Philbric  hesitated.  "  He's  above  suspicion  of  dis- 
loyalty or  carelessness,"  he  said.  "  He's  no  more 
infallible  than  I  am.  But,  Randall,  I  stood  beside 
him  while  he  worked  over  Salver.  I  stood  by  when 
he  and  the  coroner  worked  again.  I  helped  make 
the  search  of  the  rooms.  The  papers  have  not  been 
found." 

"  Salver  didn't  eat  them,"  said  I,  with  a  grim 
smile. 

"  No,  he  couldn't.  There  were  some  six  or  seven 
of  them.  They  would  make  a  hard  mouthful  to 
swallow." 

"  It  is  my  belief,  Hal,  that  they  are  not  in  that 
room  now,"  I  stated. 

The  boy  was  still  in  his  chair  by  the  window. 
He  suddenly  pushed  aside  the  afghan  that  covered 


1 86  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

his  knees.  "  Dan,"  he  said,  "  let's  go  and  look  to- 
gether— just  you  and  I  while  nobody  else  is  here." 

He  got  to  his  feet.  I  rose  also  from  the  chair 
I  had  taken  and  reached  my  arm  to  him  with  the 
sense  that  he  needed  help  to  walk. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  with  a  slightly  annoyed  laugh. 
"  I'm  sound  in  wind  and  limb  if  I  am  a  bit  shaken 
in  nerves." 

He  led  the  way  with  some  haste  and  we  went  out 
and  down  the  stairs  together.  At  the  library  the 
boy  turned  to  me. 

"  Now,"  he  began,  "  you  go  and  stand  by  the  win- 
dow over  there.  I've  done  it,  actually  and  in  im- 
agination, a  dozen  times.  Face  me  here  and  stand 
and  think.  If  you  had  a  handful  of  letters  to  hide 
and  to  hide  quick,  where  would  you  put  them  ?  " 

I  followed  his  directions  with  a  recognition  of 
the  value  of  the  method.  I  stood  by  the  window 
where  Punk  Salver  had  stood.  I  tried  to  think  what 
could  have  been  the  course  his  mind  had  taken  on 
that  fatal  morning  when  he  had  held  those  now 
lost  letters  in  his  hand,  and  had  had  one  minute 
perhaps,  in  which  to  conceal  them  safely. 

I  looked  about.  Books  and  cases,  the  rugs,  cur- 
tains, vases,  bits  of  bric-a-brac.  I  felt  that  the  books 
would  have  suggested  the  best  hiding-place  to  me  if 
I  had  thought  of  hiding  the  letters  at  all.  It  seemed 
a  strange  thing  for  the  little  blackmailer  to  do,  but 
what  more  clever  after  all?  He  put  the  things  out 
of  his  possession  and  .made  them  safe  when  he  ex- 


Wounds  of  a  Friend  187 

pected  that  servants  and  perhaps  officers  would  soon 
be  searching  him.  He  could  readily  hope  to  regain 
possession  of  them  by  obtaining  secret  entrance  to 
the  room  again.  He  had  no  hope  in  any  other 
course,  indeed.  And  then  he  had  remembered  the 
gun  in  the  table  drawer — of  which  he  must  have  had 
a  previous  knowledge — and  had  tried  to  use  it  in 
a  sort  of  desperate  turning  to  bay. 

I  went  over  his  course  so  far  as  we  knew  it  and 
asked  every  question  that  came  to  me,  foolish  or 
otherwise,  as  the  chemist  tries  every  drug  at  his 
command  in  experiment  to  obtain  a  desired  com- 
bination. 

"  We've  looked  under  rugs  and  in  books,"  said 
I.  "  We've  poked  inside  the  vases,  we've  looked  in 
the  fireplace  and  chimney,  and  tried  for  loose  tiles 
about  the  hearth.  We've  looked  in  the  tubes  of  the 
fire-screen  and  between  the  bookcases.  Did  you — 
look  in  the  base  of  the  electric  lamp  on  the  table  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  is  empty." 

"  Did  you  look  in  the  tobacco-jar  which  you  said 
you  saw  John  close  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  is  two-thirds  full  of  tobacco." 

"  Did  you  look  under  the  cushions  in  the  Morris 
chair?" 

"  Yes." 

"  In  all  the  drawers  of  the  writing  desk?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Under  the  blotting-pad  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


1 88  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Did  you  look  at  the  under  side  of  the  up- 
holstered chairs — in  the  springs?" 

"  Of  every  one  in  which  the  springs  are  open, 
yes." 

"  Under  the  coal  in  the  scuttle?  " 

"  No.  I  think  not.  But  the  scuttle  has  been  sev- 
eral times  emptied  since  then." 

"Of  course.  There's  no  place  on  the  chandelier 
where  the  letters  could  be  hidden  ?  " 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself." 

"  He  couldn't  have  gotten  them  inside  that  fili- 
gree brass  work  sphere,  could  he?  " 

"  They'd  show  if  he  did." 

"  Sure  they  would.     How  about  the  globes  ?  " 

"  I  looked  in  every  one,  myself." 

"  How  about  those  magazines  ?  Did  you  look  in 
them?" 

"  Every  one." 

"  And  the  sliding  leaves  of  the  writing  desk  ? 
There'd  be  room  for  letters  on  them." 

"  I've  pulled  them  both  out  a  dozen  times." 

"  Did  you  look  between  the  blotter  and  its  pad  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Under  those  plant  jars  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Was  the  waste-basket  searched  ?  " 

"  It  was." 

"  How  about  the  newspapers  and  such  things  on 
the  table  that  morning?" 

"  We  opened  every  last  sheet  of  them."    Hal 


Wounds  of  a  Friend  189 

came  forward  from  the  door  and  sat  down  in  his 
big  chair.  He  was  paler  again  and  tremulous,  but 
he  tried  to  smile.  "  We've  looked — everywhere," 
he  asserted. 

"  It  sounds  like  it,"  I  admitted,  and  the  conviction 
began  again  to  creep  into  my  mind  that  there  was 
treachery  against  the  boy  somewhere.  There  was 
not  a  spot  within  the  six  sides  of  that  room  that 
had  not  been  scrutinized  now.  And  Punk  Salver 
had  had  time  that  was  measurable  only  in  seconds 
in  which  to  find  repository  for  his  letters.  I  felt 
that  I  knew  every  article  in  the  place  and  was  con- 
vinced that  the  letters  were  not  there.  And  with 
that  conviction  what  remained?  Either  old  John 
Kent  or  Doctor  Graham  was  a  traitor.  What  other 
explanation  was  there — unless  we  accepted  Gra- 
ham's own  unhappy  suggestion  that  went  back  to 
Hal  himself  with  question  of  his  very  senses? 

"  Hal,"  said  I,  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the  hearth, 
"  has  it  occurred  to  you  that  it  must  appear  to  the 
outsider  to  lie  between  you  and  Graham  ?  " 

I  put  the  question  suddenly  and  he  made  a  nerv- 
ous start.  I  was  sorry  the  instant  I  had  spoken, 
for  I  saw  that  he  construed  me  wrong.  I  had 
meant  no  reflection  upon  his  condition,  God  knows, 
but  he  took  it  so. 

"Dan!"  he  cried. 

He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and  put  his  hands 
up  to  his  head,  then  leaned  back  again  and  clenched 
his  fingers  together. 


190  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  I  thought,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  that  you  be- 
lieved in  me.  Dan — good  God,  Dan,  am  I  going 
insane  ?  " 

I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  a  wild  curse  at  my  own 
monstrous  stupidity  leaped  to  my  lips. 

"  Hal,  boy ! "  I  cried,  throwing  reserve  to  the 
winds.  "  It  is  not  you  I  suspect.  It's  Graham !  " 

I  crossed  to  his  side  and  put  my  hands  on  his 
shoulders  and  felt  them  trembling  as  if  he  shivered 
with  the  cold.  Poor,  poor  chap !  He  was  like  a  girl 
in  frame  as  well  as  in  sensitiveness  then.  I  felt 
the  impulse  one  feels  with  a  child  in  trouble  to 
pick  him  up  in  my  arms  and  hold  him  till  the  fright 
should  pass.  I  looked  down  into  his  eyes. 

"  Hal,  there's  some  natural,  reasonable,  ordinary 
every-day  explanation  of  this.  You  are  no  more 
crazy  than  I  am  or  Graham  or  King,  or  your  sister 
— and  she's  the  sanest  person  I  know." 

The  boy's  eyes  had  terror  written  in  them  as 
plainly  as  I  care  to  see  it  and  his  look  wrung  my 
heart.  I  would  have  given  all  I  possessed  to  recall 
the  clumsy  sentence  I  had  let  slip.  Suddenly,  out 
of  the  sense  of  extremity  to  which  the  situation 
brought  me  the  idea  of  the  radical  measure  I  had 
earlier  half  anticipated  took  shape,  and  I  blurted 
it  out. 

"  Hal,  we'll  run  away  from  this  accursed  strain. 
We'll  run  away!  We'll  go  to  the  woods — to  the 
mountains — and  let  somebody  else  work  out  this 
mystery.  I'll  take  you  with  me  and  take  care  of 


Wounds  of  a  Friend  191 

you  and  you'll  get  well  while  Barnaby  and  the  rest 
work  this  case  out  to  its  end.  You  are  being  wor- 
ried to  death.  Let's  go  and  quit  it  and  forget  it." 

He  shivered,  but  he  sat  up  slowly  and  shook  his 
head.  "  No;  if  I'm  not  right  mentally  I  want  to 
know  it,"  he  said  painfully.  "  I'd  better  have  the 
test." 

He  sobbed  helplessly,  and  then,  suddenly,  he  col- 
lapsed in  his  chair  and  was  unconscious. 

Horrified  I  leaped  to  the  bell  and  rang  wildly  for 
John.  The  old  fellow  came  so  quickly  that  I  was 
assured  he  had  been  on  the  watch  to  serve  us.  I 
told  him  to  get  Graham.  Then  I  began  to  try  re- 
storative methods  and  presently  found  the  boy  re- 
turning to  consciousness. 

I  laid  him  on  the  couch  and  sat  beside  him  after 
he  took  a  bit  of  brandy  that  the  old  butler  brought. 
Neither  of  us  spoke  and  I  waited  in  sick  misery  for 
the  doctor's  coming.  I  could  not  know  how  much 
damage  I  had  done  the  boy. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  MEETING  IN  THE  DARK 

A  S  luck  would  have  it  Graham  was  out  and  John 
•*•  *•  sent  for  another  doctor,  a  younger  man  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  came  promptly.  His  grave 
look  over  Hal  when  I  had  told  him  the  truth  did  not 
comfort  me.  It  hurt  me  worse,  indeed,  than  sim- 
ilar seriousness  from  Graham  would  have  done. 
We  took  Hal  to  his  room.  The  doctor  gave  him 
a  medicine  which  he  explained  to  me  was  a  powerful 
sleeping  potion.  Then  he  left  additional  doses  for 
use  later  and  went  away,  promising  to  find  and 
send  Graham;  and  I,  quite  wretched,  watched  the 
lad  go  off  into  slumber  and  then  crept  back  down 
to  the  library  to  spend  a  wholly  miserable  after- 
noon recalling  my  blunder  and  considering  a  gloomy 
future  indeed. 

When  Donna  and  King  came  back  at  last,  I  wel- 
comed them  eagerly.  I  told  them  just  what  had 
occurred  and  I  had  a  glare  from  King's  eyes  that 
meant  only  one  thing  henceforth  from  him.  Donna 
paled  with  pitiful  anxiety  and  ran  to  Hal's  room, 
where  she  stayed  to  watch  by  the  side  of  the  still 
sleeping  boy. 

192 


A  Meeting  in  the  Dark  193 

King  and  I  read  the  papers  and  then  made  a  pre- 
tense of  talking  the  case  over,  but  I  knew  I  should 
quarrel  with  him  if  I  stayed  in  his  company,  for  his 
manner  gave  offense  despite  my  fault.  He  had  no 
charity  for  me.  So  I  left  him  and  went  again  to 
the  stables,  where  I  asked  for  and  got  a  mount. 
And  as  the  dusk  set  in  I  galloped  off  down  the 
road  to  bring  my  own  brain  back  to  cool  clarity  and 
calmness. 

I  rode  long.  My  horse  was  fresh  and  the  roads 
were  amazingly  good  for  the  early  spring.  I  cared 
not  to  eat  and  so  through  the  dinner  hour  I  spurred 
through  the  country  lanes  and  cross-roads,  through 
wood-paths  and  hill  trails,  far  into  the  hours  of 
darkness,  till  my  mount  was  weary.  Then  I  turned 
back  and  came  in  again  to  make  such  amends  as  I 
might  to  the  boy  whom  I  had  meant  only  to  help 
and  whom  I  had  dealt  such  an  unlucky  wound. 

I  found  that  Graham  had  been  at  the  house  when 
I  got  back.  He  had  approved  what  the  other  doc- 
tor had  done  and  Hal  still  slept  under  the  influence 
of  the  drug,  or  in  natural  slumber  following  upon 
its  quieting  effects.  I  was  a  little  comforted  by 
this. 

King,  too,  had  gone,  and  Donna  and  Aunt  Char- 
lotte were  kind,  each  offering  more  friendliness  than 
I  had  expected.  Indeed,  Donna  seemed  sorry  for 
me  with  all  her  concern  for  her  brother ;  and  it  was 
in  her  willingness  that  we  should  all  leave  the  sub- 
ject for  the  time  that  she  reminded  me  of  the  thing 


194  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

of  which  we  had  talked  in  the  morning  and  her  idea 
was  wholesome  for  us  all. 

"  Aileen  promised  to  be  back  at  ten  this  even- 
ing," she  said.  "  Do  you  want  to  question  her?  " 

"  Aileen  ?  "  said  I,  not  recalling  the  girl  for  a 
moment. 

"  The  maid  in  whose  room  this  plan  of  the 
grounds  was  found,"  she  said,  bringing  to  me  the 
paper  which  I  had  seen  earlier. 

The  memory  brought  me  back  to  a  plan  I  had 
formed  in  the  early  portion  of  the  day. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  I  had  been  late  returning 
after  my  ride.  It  was  nine-thirty  now. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  put  this  thing  back  where 
it  was  found,"  I  suggested,  "  and  then  wait  oppor- 
tunity to  question  or  watch  the  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  assented  Donna  quickly.  She  went  to 
the  bell-push  by  the  wide  library  hearth  and  rang 
for  the  housekeeper.  Presently  that  quiet  compe- 
tent Englishwoman  came  to  the  door.  Donna  gave 
her  the  paper  slip  at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Griggs,  please  put  this  where  you  and 
Auntie  found  it  this  morning — quickly,  before  the 
girl  comes  in.  Let  us  know  what  time  she  comes, 
and,  if  you  can,  see  whether  she  comes  alone." 

"  I'd  have  to  go  to  the  gate  and  watch  to  know 
that,  Miss  Donna.  The  maids  don't  bring  their 
friends  inside  the  grounds." 

"  Oh,"  said  Donna.  She  looked  at  me  for  a 
fresh  suggestion. 


A  Meeting  in  the  Dark  195 

"  Don't  rouse  her  suspicions  that  we  are  watch- 
ing her,"  I  said.  "  Let's  think  of  some  other  way." 
I  rose,  reached  my  hand  for  the  sheet  the  house- 
keeper now  held  and  looked  at  it  narrowly  again. 
Donna  came  to  my  side  and  looked  also.  "  Are 
there  any  peculiar  marks  on  it?  "  I  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  '  There's  a  little  cross  there 
by  the  small  side  gate  back  of  the  garage.  But 
that's  the  servants'  gate." 

I  looked  the  plan  over.  It  was  easy  to  trace  out 
the  paths  from  my  own  familiarity  with  them  when 
I  knew  what  the  thing  was.  There  was  not  a  mark 
upon  them  that  would  serve  to  indicate  the  maker's 
special  interest  in  any  one  point  except  the  servants' 
gate.  I  gave  the  little  slip  back  to  the  housekeeper. 

"Is  she  usually  prompt  in  getting  home?"  I 
asked  the  woman. 

"  Very,"  responded  Mrs.  Griggs. 

"  All  right,"  I  said.  "  Just  let  us  know  whether 
she  is  to-night.  Is  she  the  only  girl  out  this  even- 
ing?" 

"  One  other,  sir." 

"  What  does  Aileen  look  like?  " 

"  She's  very  tall  and  wears  a  gray  suit,  sir." 

"And  the  other  maid  that's  out?" 

"  Is  small.  She  wears  brown  and  I  think  she 
only  had  a  shawl  over  her  head  to-night." 

"  I  see."  The  housekeeper  retired.  "  Not  much 
of  a  clue,"  I  commented,  rather  disposed  to  think 
we  were  making  much  of  little.  "  But  it's  a  curious 


196  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

coincidence  that  we  should  find  just  this  sort  of  a 
paper  in  the  girl's  possession  just  at  this  time.  I 
think,  Miss  Philbric,  I'll  just  take  a  stroll  till  ten 
o'clock  or  so  and  see  who  comes  home,  and  how." 

The  ladies  approved  and  I  took  hat  and  gloves  and 
stepped  out  by  the  front  door  and  through  the 
veranda.  The  weather  was  consistently  mild  and 
balmy  and  it  was  past  the  time  to  think  of  overcoats. 

It  was  a  moonless  but  very  clear  night.  The  air 
was  full  of  the  sweet  smell  of  damp  earth  and  grow- 
ing things.  There  was  plenty  of  spice  of  interest 
in  any  possible  opportunity  for  gathering  clues.  Be- 
sides, I  wished  to  think  alone  and  I  was  glad  of 
a  bit  of  time  by  myself. 

I  walked  slowly  down  along  the  new  grass  by 
the  side  of  the  well  remembered  drive  to  the  main 
gate  of  the  grounds  which  gave  upon  the  public 
road.  In  the  soft  darkness  under  the  swaying 
branches  of  the  budding  trees  the  place  seemed 
familiar  enough,  and  I  had  little  difficulty  in  keeping 
to  the  edge  of  the  drive.  I  had  small  notion  that 
my  present  quest  would  give  results  but  it  was  the 
one  thing  that  offered  to-night.  The  strange  inci- 
dent of  the  anonymous  letters  held  me  to  the  idea 
of  seeing  the  girl  as  a  thing  that  should  not  be  neg- 
lected. It  was  not  the  least  of  our  problems. 

I  found  shadow  enough  at  the  side  of  the  gray 
road  when  I  passed  the  gates,  and  by  keeping  on  the 
grass  near  the  trees  of  the  grounds  I  was  well 
hidden  from  any  casual  observance.  The  road  was 


A  Meeting  in  the  Dark  197 

very  still,  as  country  roads  are  apt  to  be,  at  such  an 
hour.  In  both  directions  it  stretched  away  dimly 
to  lose  itself  among  the  trees.  Toward  the  town 
there  were  the  lights  of  a  house  or  two.  In  the 
other  direction  all  the  countryside  was  lost  in  that 
gloom  that  only  still  fields  can  have  under  a  night 
sky.  The  cross-road  which  passed  the  side  of  our 
place  was  quite  as  gray  and  lonely.  It  was  not  as 
wide  as  the  main  road  nor  as  smooth.  The  latter 
was  much  traveled  by  automobiles  of  country- 
dwellers,  and  was  well  kept.  The  cross-road  was  a 
less  important  highway. 

I  turned  at  the  corner  of  the  high  fence  that  sur- 
rounded the  immediate  house  grounds  and  made  my 
way  slowly  along  toward  the  side  gate.  I  was  con- 
fident that  if  any  one  came  along  the  road  it  would 
be  impossible  for  me  not  to  see  and  hear  them. 
There  was  almost  complete  silence  upon  the  whole 
of  our  little  part  of  the  world.  Only  those  faint, 
distant,  vague  sounds  that  come  across  wide  open 
areas  in  darkness  reached  my  ears.  It  was  too 
early  for  frogs  and  crickets.  The  immediate  neigh- 
borhood was  absolutely  still. 

Despite  my  errand  I  was  wholly  unprepared  for 
adventure.  I  anticipated  none.  To  watch  a  girl 
come  down  the  public  road  possibly  attended  by  a 
swain,  and  to  get  a  look  at  that  swain,  was  the  limit 
of  my  expectation.  But  as  I  came  near  to  the  gate 
of  the  servants  and  was  looking  for  a  particularly 
deep  shadow  in  which  to  take  my  stand,  a  sound 


198  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

came  from  within  the  grounds  themselves  that  in- 
stantly warned  me  that  some  one  else  beside  house- 
maids was  abroad. 

There  was  a  slight  scuffling  of  feet  on  the  path 
within  the  fence,  just  at  the  gate's  side,  and  probably 
a  dozen  feet  from  where  I  stood.  Then  there  was 
a  soft  brushing  of  bushes  nearer,  and  presently, 
almost  before  I  could  set  myself  in  poise  for  quiet, 
some  human  being  whose  steps  I  could  not  hear  on 
the  sod,  but  whose  very  breathing  was  audible,  was 
creeping  toward  me  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fence. 

Naturally  I  stood  still.  The  fine  excitement  of 
the  thing  rose  with  a  rush  like  an  intoxicant  to  heat 
my  brain.  I  felt  that  a  real  game  was  afoot  after 
all,  for  there  was  no  mistaking  the  stealthiness  of 
the  feet  that  crept  along  those  palings.  The  leaves 
slipped  and  rustled  against  the  pushing  figure  almost 
in  arm's  length  before  I  saw  it  and  then,  when  it 
came  into  view,  a  black  humped-up  shapeless 
shadow,  I  could  not  have  told  whether  it  was  man 
or  woman  or  beast,  that  stopped  suddenly  as  still 
as  I  and  stood  with  every  motion  and  every  sound 
stilled. 

But  I  was  not  left  long  in  doubt,  at  least  as  to 
what  sort  of  being  I  faced,  for  a  gruff  grunt  sud- 
denly apprised  me  that  a  human,  and  a  startled  one, 
had  abruptly  become  aware  of  me. 

"  Humph ! "  That  was  what  it  sounded  like. 
Then  suddenly  a  whisper,  "  Dad." 


A  Meeting  in  the  Dark  199 

I  answered  on  the  impulse  of  the  instant.  "  Yes," 
I  whispered  back,  peering  and  striving  to  see  be- 
tween the  iron  palings. 

The  figure  inside  did  not  move  for  a  moment. 
Then  slowly  spoke  out.  "  Well,  who  in " 

He  stopped.  Suddenly  he  turned  in  the  bushes 
and  made  a  rush  back  the  way  he  had  come.  In- 
stantly I  ran  to  the  gate  and  burst  in.  I  plainly 
heard  for  a  moment  the  beat  of  feet  on  the  path 
ahead.  Then  again  I  heard  the  smashing  of  the 
shrubbery  as  my  quarry  broke  through,  and  this 
time  I  caught  the  direction  better. 

Quickly  divining  that  the  runner  was  making  for 
the  front  gates  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  could 
far  better  turn  back  to  the  road  and  make  my  run 
around  in  the  open  highway,  than  to  attempt  to 
follow  through  the  trees.  I  might  arrive  in  front 
of  the  grounds  in  time  for  a  glimpse,  at  least,  of 
the  fugitive.  I  followed  the  impulse  and  ran  with 
all  my  speed  for  the  main  road.  I  came  to  the 
corner  and  was  swinging  round  it  when  without 
warning  another  running  figure  came  like  a  rushing 
madman  out  of  the  darkness  and  crashed  into  me. 
Next  instant  I  was  sprawling  in  the  damp  grass 
of  the  roadside  trying  desperately  to  regain  com- 
mand of  my  lost  equilibrium  and  to  get  a  grip  on 
the  wind  that  was  very  nearly  knocked  out  of  me. 
Before  I  could  recover,  however,  I  heard  the  sound 
of  feet  in  the  road  and  when  I  managed  to  roll  to 
a  sitting  posture  I  saw  a  dark  figure  for  a  moment 


2OO  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

against  the  sky  as  it  crossed  the  highway.  Almost 
instantly  it  sank  down  below  the  horizon  line,  how- 
ever, and  disappeared  in  the  heavy,  blurred  shadow 
of  the  old  corn-field  opposite. 

I  got  to  my  feet  slowly  after  my  fall.  I  was 
bruised.  Whoever  the  man  was  who  had  run  into 
me  he  was  a  solid  chunk  of  a  fellow.  I  am  some- 
thing of  an  athlete  myself.  Old  college  friends 
still  called  me  "  Bim,"  a  nickname  tacked  upon  me 
in  football  days  for  the  very  sort  of  rough  and 
tumble  that  should  stand  me  in  good  stead  on  an 
occasion  of  such  an  encounter.  But  I  had  been 
taken  unawares  and  the  fellow  had  been  running 
lower  than  I.  He  had  evidently  been  less  jarred 
than  I  had. 

I  picked  myself  up  somewhat  sorely.  I  was  still 
on  the  outlook,  however,  for  I  believed  that  the  man 
who  had  run  into  me  was  not  the  one  I  had  fol- 
lowed. As  I  got  the  persistent  luminaries  out  of 
my  vision  I  discovered  promptly,  therefore,  that 
some  one  was  standing  in  the  main  road  at  about 
the  point  where  the  gates  opened  upon  it.  Looking 
closely  I  saw  that  it  was  a  woman  who  had  stopped 
still  there  evidently  alarmed  and  listening.  I  stepped 
out  into  the  road  and  called  to  her. 

"  Did  you  see  those  men  run?  " 

She  remained  motionless,  regarding  me  for  an  in- 
stant. Then  presently  she  came  slowly  along  the 
road  toward  me.  As  soon  as  she  was  close  enough 
for  me  to  see  her  distinctly  I  became  sure  that  she 


A  Meeting  in  the  Dark  201 

was  the  maid,  Aileen.  She  seemed  to  have  just 
come  up  the  road  from  the  village,  too,  and  her 
first  question  was  such  as  might  disarm  suspicion. 
She  knew  me,  though  I  would  not  have  known  her 
but  for  her  height  and  the  gray  costume  Mrs.  Griggs 
had  described. 

"Is  anything  wrong  at  the  house,  sir?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,  nothing  new,"  I  answered.  "  I  trust  not, 
at  least.  I've  just  had  an  adventure  out  here  with 
a  couple  of  prowlers,  however.  Did  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  saw  nothing,"  she  replied  frankly. 
She  spoke  excellent  English  and  I  should  not  have 
known  her  nationality  from  any  accent. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  men  who  do  not  belong  to 
the  place  hanging  about  lately  ?  "  I  questioned,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  my  unexpected  opportunity. 

"  Why,  no,  sir,"  she  answered  easily. 

"  Anybody  from  town  been  coming  to  the  house 
who  doesn't  usually  come  ?  " 

"  Not  as  I  know  of,  sir." 

I  nodded.  I  had  lost  my  hat  in  the  fall  of  a  mo- 
ment before.  I  turned  to  look  for  it  to  give  my 
questions  as  casual  a  sound  as  possible.  I  was  con- 
scious that  they  were  not  very  clever  questions  and 
would  not  lead  to  much.  Still,  the  girl's  open  man- 
ner was  something  to  observe. 

I  lighted  a  match  and  returned  to  the  dark  strip 
of  shadow  by  the  fence.  She  followed  me  and 
aided  in  the  search  for  the  hat.  The  latter  was 


2O2  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

easily  located,  however,  and  I  turned  again  pres- 
ently and  walked  back  to  the  road. 

"All  alone?"  I  asked  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"  Do  you  often  walk  alone  on  the  road  when  you 
are  out  late?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  answered.    "  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  perfectly  familiar  with  all 
the  roads  from  here  to  town." 

She  laughed  lightly.    "  It's  only  a  mile,  sir." 

"  For  my  part,"  I  said,  "  I  need  a  plan  of  the 
very  grounds,  I  guess.  I've  been  looking  one  over 
to-night." 

"  A  plan  of  the  grounds  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  waiting  to  hear  the  nature  of  her 
comment. 

"  Is  there  one  at  the  house,  sir?  "  she  queried  in- 
nocently. 

"  You  don't  suppose  grounds  like  these  are  laid 
out  without  a  plan,  do  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  there  is  a  land- 
scape gardener's  plan." 

"  And  you  never  saw  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  no." 

She  was  either  entirely  innocent  of  any  notion 
of  what  the  paper  was  that  had  been  discovered  in 
her  possession  or  she  was  clever  enough  to  make 
this  appearance  of  ignorance  very  plausible.  I 
brushed  my  presumably  soiled  clothing  and  laughed. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I'm  sorry  we  startled  you.     I 


A  Meeting  in  the  Dark  203 

think  we'll  have  to  have  an  officer  or  a  good  stout 
groom  or  two  on  night  duty  about  here.  Good- 
night." 

She  went  on  around  the  corner  to  the  side  gate. 
I  heard  the  gate  click  after  her  as  I  made  my  way 
slowly  toward  the  main  drive.  Presently  I  also 
heard  the  side  door  of  the  house  close.  When  I 
entered  the  front  door  a  moment  later  Mrs.  Griggs 
was  already  in  the  hall  at  the  library  door  reporting 
that  the  maid  was  in. 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  when  I  showed 
myself  in  the  light  of  the  library  lamps  but  I  told 
my  brief  story  quickly.  I  saw  Donna's  eyes  fill 
with  apprehension  for  my  safety  that  was  flattering 
enough  as  I  related  the  tale  of  my  absurd  discom- 
fiture, and  I  saw  the  amazement  of  good  Aunt  Char- 
lotte and  of  Mrs.  Griggs. 

We  had  learned  but  one  thing,  however,  and  that 
was  only  in  the  way  of  confirmation  of  what  King 
had  already  discovered.  We  were  watched.  I 
might  better  say  we  were  spied  upon.  And  the 
natural  conclusion  was  that  some  one  of  these  spies 
was  either  getting  into  the  house  or  operating  in 
the  house  through  some  unfaithful  servant.  It 
might  be  the  girl  Aileen  or  it  might  be  some  other. 

Old  John  sent  two  stout  fellows  to  patrol  the 
grounds.  That  was  the  only  immediate  action  we 
could  take,  it  seemed,  and  we  all  decided  to  turn 
in  quietly.  I  said  good-night  to  the  ladies  and  went 
to  my  room.  As  I  was  drawing  my  shades,  how- 


204  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

ever,  I  heard  a  startlingly  sudden  rap  at  my  door 
and  opened  to  see  Donna  standing  there,  her  face 
white  with  wild  alarm. 

"  Hal ! "  she  gasped  when  I  started  forward  to 
support  her.  "  Hal — is  asleep  still.  But  look — 
look  what  they've  done  now !  " 

Her  hands  were  shaking  but  she  pressed  into 
mine  another  sheet  with  red  lines  and  letters  upon 
it,  and  I  knew  without  looking  for  details  all  that 
it  meant. 

"Another  red  letter?" 

"  Yes — pinned  on  his  very  breast  as  he  sat  in 
his  chair  by  the  window." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  ODOR  OF  EVIDENCE 

ID  he  see  it  ?  "  I  asked,  as  I  took  the  thing 
from  her. 

"  No — thank  God.    He  hasn't  waked." 

"Where  is  Aileen?" 

"  In  her  room.  Mrs.  Griggs  is  having  her 
watched." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  She  promised." 

I  opened  the  paper  and  looked  at  it.  It  was  like 
the  rest  of  these  missives  in  that  it  was  unsigned, 
but  it  bore  no  picture  this  time.  The  few  words  it 
contained,  however,  could  not  have  been  better  cal- 
culated to  strike  fresh  terror  to  our  boy's  heart  on 
this  night  had  he  chanced  to  see  them. 

"  Your  friends  know  it  now.  They  don't  say  so 
but  they  know.  Look  at  them  and  see." 

The  thing  needs  no  comment.  It  received  little 
from  me.  I  went  out  into  the  hall. 

"  Come  and  let's  find  out  whether  Mrs.  Griggs 
has  kept  her  promise,"  I  said. 

We  went  down  the  stairs  together.  Donna  led 
205 


206  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

the  way  to  the  housekeper's  room  and  called  Mrs. 
Griggs  to  her  door. 

"  Did  you  watch  Aileen  ?  "  I  asked  the  surprised 
woman  when  she  obeyed  my  suggestion  that  she 
step  out  into  the  hall.  I  had  heard  voices  in  her 
room. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  quickly.  "  She  is  in  my 
room  now." 

"  Has  she  been  to  her  own  room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  watched  her  door  till  she  came  back 
to  me." 

"  And  she  hasn't  been  out  of  your  sight  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

I  held  out  the  new  "  red  letter "  for  her  to 
see.  "  It  was  pinned  on  Hal's  breast  as  he  lay  in 
his  chair  asleep  some  time  this  evening,"  I  told 
her. 

"  Then  Aileen  did  not  do  it,"  she  answered 
quietly  enough,  though  her  eyes  opened  wide  with 
astonishment. 

"  Apparently  not,"  said  I.  "  But  things  are  get- 
ting too  mysterious  around  us  here  to  believe  any- 
thing we  merely  see  or  hear." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  questioned  Donna  help- 
lessly. 

"  We'll  stop  this  sort  of  thing  effectually  for  to- 
night," I  said.  "  I'll  go  back  myself  and  sit  in  Hal's 
room.  Mrs.  Griggs,  you  need  not  watch  the  girl 
longer.  She's  not  guilty." 

We  went  to  the  library,  Donna  and  I.    She  turned 


The  Odor  of  Evidence  207 

on  the  lights  and  I  stirred  the  fire  again.  It  was  not 
yet  midnight. 

"  Now,  Miss  Philbric,"  I  said,  "  this  thing  has 
got  to  stop.  Hal's  suffered  enough.  I  want  you 
to  let  me  take  him  away  secretly — now,  before  these 
enemies  of  ours  can  make  another  move.  We've 
got  to  run  away  from  them.  Hal  simply  can't  stand 
it.  What  happened  to-day  merely  proves  that.  And 
the  things  they  will  do  to  him  if  he  tries  to  face  a 
test  of  his  sanity  will  be  too  much  for  him.  Will 
you  agree  ?  " 

"  That  you  run  away  with  him?  "  she  breathed. 

"  Yes.  I'll  take  care  of  him  and  hide  him.  We'll 
camp  in  the  mountains  somewhere — far  enough 
away  so  that  they  can't  find  us;  and  then  you  and 
King  and  Barnaby  can  stave  these  fellows  off  till 
Hal  gets  strong." 

"  But  that  will  take  months." 

"  Just  so — perhaps.  I  think  weeks  will  do  it — 
say  six  weeks." 

"  Could  he  get  back  to  health  in  six  weeks  ?  " 

"  He  could  get  back  nerve  enough  to  go  and  have 
a  proper  sort  of  examination  made  in  a  way  that 
wouldn't  hurt  him.  We  could  have  a  doctor  or  two 
join  us  without  Hal's  knowing  who  they  are  and 
get  their  opinions  on  his  sanity." 

The  tears  were  in  her  eyes  and  wet  upon 
her  cheeks  now.  "  Oh,  you  are  so  good,"  she 
said. 

"  I'm  not.     I'm  fighting  mad.     I'd  like  to  be  out 


208  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

in  the  thick  of  some  sort  of  fray  where  I  could 
face  the  instigators  of  this  game  again." 

"  You've  suffered  already." 

"  Yes,  and  I'm  very  willing  to  strike  back.  But 
I  can't  do  better  for  all  of  us  than  to  take  Hal 
away." 

"When?" 

"  To-morrow." 

"Will  he  go?" 

"  He  says  not.     You  must  persuade  him." 

"  Perhaps  I  can't." 

"  You  must." 

She  stood  with  the  light  of  the  fire  thrown  up 
upon  her  face,  one  slim  foot  on  the  hearth,  her 
hands  folded  before  her,  the  picture  of  unconscious- 
ness of  her  beautiful  self.  Gentle,  loving,  anxious, 
she  was  lovely  and  lovable  beyond  compare.  I 
longed  to  serve  her  and  to  relieve  her  unhappiness. 
Even  with  the  sense  upon  me  that  her  love  could  not 
be  for  me,  I  longed  to  serve  for  the  sake  of  the 
serving. 

"  We  will  sleep  upon  it  then,"  she  said.  "  I'll  try, 
if  you  and  Bob  think  it  right." 

"  Perhaps  King  won't  like  the  idea." 

"  He  has  urged  it,  too." 

The  notion  stung,  but  I  answered  promptly. 
"  Then  you  are  convinced  of  the  wisdom  of  it." 

"  I  think  you  two  men  must  know,"  she  an- 
swered. 

We  left  the  library  again  and  went  up  the  stairs 


The  Odor  of  Evidence  209 

together.    At  the  top  she  turned  toward  her  room. 

"  Please  make  yourself  comfortable  if  you  stay 
in  Hal's  room,"  she  said. 

I  saw  that  the  idea  comforted  her.  "  I  will,"  I 
answered.  "  Good-night." 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  I  took  it  and  pressed 
it,  dumbly. 

"  Good-night,  Dan  Randall,"  she  said  with  just 
a  flicker  of  a  smile. 

I  went  directly  to  Hal's  room.  A  night-light 
burned  there.  I  pulled  a  steamer  rug  and  pillow 
from  the  couch  and  threw  them  down  behind  the 
closed  door,  then  lay  down  with  the  certainty  that 
no  human  being  could  pass  that  way  without  waking 
me.  And  I  slept. 

Hal  was  still  asleep  when  I  woke  some  time  after 
daylight.  I  went  and  stood  by  him  and  listened  to 
his  light  breathing.  I  was  hopeful  that  the  long 
quiet  rest  might  have  done  him  good.  It  seemed 
to  me  quite  safe  now  to  leave  him  and  go  to  my 
own  room  to  shave  and  dress  for  the  day,  and  I  did 
so  accordingly. 

The  house  was  very  still  and  I  found  it  was  only 
six  o'clock  as  I  looked  at  my  watch  in  the  hall.  I 
went  to  my  own  room  and  pushed  open  the  door, 
which  I  found  closed.  The  moment  I  entered,  I 
became  instantly  conscious  of  the  smell  of  stale  ciga- 
rettes again.  I  looked  about  and  could  see  nothing 
wrong  or  unusual  in  my  room.  I  thought  about  the 
matter  as  I  prepared  for  my  bath. 


2io  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

This  was  quite  as  curious  as  the  other  strange 
happenings.  It  looked  very  much  as  if  some  one 
were  making  free  of  my  room  when  I  was  out  of 
it,  and  the  natural  thing  was  to  try  to  establish  con- 
nection between  this  fact  and  the  outrages  that 
had  been  perpetrated  upon  Hal.  Could  my  room 
be  the  path  by  which  some  one  entered  the  upper 
portion  of  the  house  and  so  reached  the  boy's  room? 
If  so,  how  did  such  person  enter  my  room? 
Through  the  locked  door?  I  went  and  tried  it.  It 
had  apparently  remained  locked  all  the  time.  Why 
should  any  one  enter  my  room  at  all,  unless  com- 
pelled to  do  so?  And  yet,  what  did  the  odor  of 
cigarettes  indicate  if  not  that  some  one  had  been 
there  ? 

My  windows  were  not  open  this  morning.  I 
opened  them  and  breathed  the  sweet  air,  and  looked 
upon  the  trees  and  lawns  with  eyes  that  saw  appar- 
ently for  the  first  time  in  days.  How  the  buds 
had  grown  and  burst  and  the  tender  leaves  had 
spread  since  the  day  of  the  snow!  How  the  grass 
had  grown !  How  spring  had  advanced !  And  then 
the  faint  little  whiff  of  stale  cigarette  smoke  came 
to  my  nostrils  as  the  counter  draft  sucked  out  of  the 
room  past  me. 

I  went  to  my  bath.  Then  I  shaved  and  dressed. 
I  had  finished  and  was  just  about  to  go  out  into 
the  hall  and  to  Hal's  room  again  when  a  rap 
sounded  again  at  my  door,  and  this  time  I  opened 
to  Mrs.  Griggs. 


The  Odor  of  Evidence  211 

"  Didn't  you  stay  in  Mr.  Hal's  room  last  night, 
sir?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.    "  I  did." 

She  held  out  to  me  a  slip  of  paper  with  red  marks 
on  it,  and  I  read  it  quickly. 

"  To-day  is  the  Day." 

"  It  was  on  the  door  of  Mr.  Hal's  room  just  now, 
sir,"  said  the  woman. 

"Inside?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  sir;  outside." 

I  stared  at  the  thing.  Had  it  been  there  when 
I  came  out  of  the  room?  I  could  not  tell.  It  was 
quite  possible. 

"  Has  any  one  else  seen  this  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  sir." 

"  Keep  quiet  about  it,"  I  told  her. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

I  ran  downstairs  and  found  old  John  in  the  hall. 

'''  John,"  I  said,  "  is  there  anything  peculiar  about 
the  construction  of  this  house  that  you  haven't  told 
me?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  asked  the  man, 
staring. 

"  Any  secret  passages  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  sir." 

"  Did  your  men  patrol  the  grounds?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"No  alarm?" 

"  Not  a  bit." 


212  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Do  you  smoke  cigarettes  ?  " 

He  stared  at  me.    "  I,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you." 

"  No,  sir;  I  hope  not,  sir." 

"  Good.    Does  anybody  around  the  place  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  sir." 

"Stable-boys?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,  sir." 

"  Do  they  ever  come  to  the  house  ?  " 

"  The  kitchen  sometimes,  Mr.  Randall." 

"  Is  there  any  man  or  boy  who  comes  here  to 
the  house,  regularly  or  irregularly  or  occasionally 
— or  habitually — who  smokes  cigarettes  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say,  sir." 

I  showed  him  the  note  from  Hal's  door.  As  he 
read  it  Donna  came  suddenly  upon  us  from  the 
dining-room.  I  was  not  quick  enough  to  recover 
the  thing  from  him  before  she  saw  it. 

"  Another  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  pale. 

"  Yes." 

"Hal?" 

"No,  Hal  hasn't  seen  it?" 

"Where  was  it?" 

"  On  the  outside  of  his  door.  I  slept  on  the 
floor  just  inside  of  that  door  all  night." 

The  girl  read  the  message,  which  I  did  not  try  to 
keep  from  her?  'To-day?"  she  repeated,  looking 
up  at  me. 

"  Yes.  Does  that  convince  you  that  my  sugges- 
tion of  last  night  is  a  good  one  ?  " 


The  Odor  of  Evidence  213 

She  looked  at  me  oddly,  a  trifle  less  frankly  than 
she  had. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  wait  till 
Bob  comes  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  I.  I  was  cut  to  the  quick,  but 
I  turned  to  John. 

"  John,  there's  mystery  in  this  house  and  I  want 
to  make  another  search.  Will  you  help  me?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Of  course,  sir,"  answered  the  old 
man. 

"  May  I  go  over  every  inch  of  the  place,  Miss 
Philbric?"Iasked. 

"  Indeed  you  may,"  she  said  more  cordially. 

"  I'll  go  and  talk  to  our  patrols  then  first,"  I 
said.  "  John,  I'll  want  you  in,  say,  half  an  hour." 

I  took  a  cap  from  the  tree  in  the  hall  and  went 
out  as  Donna  started  up  the  stairs.  I  was  not  cere- 
monious with  her.  I  could  not  be  at  the  moment, 
for  I  was  unreasonably,  unreasoningly  hurt.  But 
as  I  stepped  out  into  the  porch  I  looked  back  at  her, 
thinking  to  have  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  went  up 
to  her  brother.  To  my  surprise  she  stood  still  at 
the  foot  of  the  flight,  leaning  against  the  newel-post 
and  looking  after  me  with  an  expression  that  was 
hard  to  read  but  that  did  not  seem  unfriendly. 

I  stopped  and  turned.  But  suddenly  her  eyes 
fell  and  the  color  mounted  quickly  in  her  face.  As 
quickly  as  I  noted  it  I  paused,  and  then  in  a  mo- 
ment she  had  turned  and  was  running  swiftly  up 
the  stairs. 


214  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  went  on  and  out,  puzzled  but  stirred  strangely. 
What  did  such  a  look  mean  ?  Did  it  mean  that  I  had 
been  less  than  kind  and  had  hurt  her,  or  did  it  mean 
that  there  was  less  of  real  confidence  in  me  in  her 
heart  than  she  wanted  me  to  think?  I  could  not 
unriddle  it. 

I  found  the  men  for  whom  John  had  told  me  to 
ask  at  the  stables.  Mabley  and  Foyle  were  their 
names  and  they  were  two  decent,  competent,  honest- 
looking  chaps. 

"  Any  alarm,  boys?  "  I  asked  them. 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Foyle  respectfully. 

"  No  sign  of  one?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Nobody  come  about  ?  " 

"  Not  a  soul,  sir." 

"Hear  anything?" 

"  Nothing  worth  mentioning,  sir." 

"What  did  you  hear?" 

"Well,  it's  hardly  worth  tellin',  sir.  But  we 
heard  the  servants'  gate  click  at  about  5 130,  sir. 
That's  all." 

"  That's  all !    Didn't  you  investigate?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  did.    But  nothing  could  we  find." 

"  Could  the  wind  have  clicked  the  gate  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  wind  last  night,  sir." 

"  And  you  heard  nothing  else  before  or  after  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Where  were  you  when  you  heard  the  sound  ?  " 

"  I  was  on  the  path  near  the  east  door,  sir,  and 


The  Odor  of  Evidence  215 

Mabley  was  in  the  shrubbery  near  the  front  gate." 

"  Did  you  both  hear  the  noise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"  We  ran  to  the  gate  and  then  we  looked  all 
around  inside  and  outside  the  grounds." 

"And  found  nothing?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,  sir.    It  was  one  on  us." 

"  It  isn't  much,  is  it  ?  "  said  I,  smiling. 

They  laughed.  "  No,  sir,"  said  Foyle.  "  We'll 
keep  an  eye  out  to-night,  though,  also." 

I  left  them  and  went  around  to  the  gate  they 
mentioned.  It  was  the  spot  where  my  adventure 
of  the  evening  before  had  commenced.  As  I  reached 
the  place  I  heard  an  automobile  coming  into  the 
front  gate  and  I  paused  to  watch  through  the  trees. 
It  was  only  seven  o'clock  now  and  early  for  visitors. 
But  I  saw  King  jump  from  his  car  and  go  into  the 
house. 

I  went  to  the  servants'  gate  then  and  began  to 
examine  it.  I  tested  its  spring  and  latch.  I  opened 
it  and  let  it  swing  together  with  its  click.  I  re- 
membered that  I  myself  had  heard  the  sound  from 
the  front  road  when  I  had  waited  for  the  maid 
Aileen  to  enter  the  house.  It  would  be  easy  for 
any  one  to  hear  it  in  any  part  of  the  grounds.  But 
why  should  any  person  who  was  prowling  about, 
allow  the  gate  to  click  when  in  every  other  way 
he  was  apparently  quite  undetected? 

But  as  I  bent  down  to  examine  the  hinges  my 


2i 6  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

eyes  fell  on  something  in  the  path  that  gave  me 
a  curious  sensation,  commonplace  as  the  thing  was 
or  might  be,  under  most  circumstances.  There  on 
the  gravel  lay  a  half -smoked  cigarette,  its  paper 
fresh  and  clean  and  neither  damped  nor  stained  by 
lying  out.  It  had  evidently  fallen  there  within  a 
very  few  hours  at  the  most. 

I  picked  it  up.  It  was  one  of  the  round  cheap 
variety  but  it  bore  a  portion  of  a  name  on  the  un- 
burned  length.  The  letters  i  n  o  remained.  The 
rest  had  been  smoked  away.  It  was  a  poor  clue 
certainly  and  might  not  be  a  clue  at  all,  but  I  was 
too  fresh  from  the  cigarette-smell  in  my  room  to  let 
this  escape  me. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  SLEEPING  POTION 

T  PUT  the  thing  in  my  pocket  and  walked  back 
•*•  to  the  stables.  It  occurred  to  me  that  it  would 
be  a  good  plan  to  find  out  if  possible  what  the 
brand  of  cigarettes  might  be,  and  then  to  watch  for 
the  smoker  who  used  them.  If  he  were  our  prowler 
he  must  indeed  be  addicted  to  the  habit  to  be  forced 
to  smoke  when  on  such  errands  as  brought  him  here 
— or  he  was  a  strangely  cool  hand. 

As  I  neared  the  stables  it  chanced  that  the  man 
Mabley  was  just  leading  out  a  horse  with  single 
carriage. 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you  up  to  town,  sir?" 
he  asked  as  he  saw  me. 

I  suddenly  decided  to  find  out  about  my  cigarette 
at  once. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  take  me  with  you." 

"  All  right,  sir,"  he  answered. 

In  two  minutes  we  were  on  the  way.  It  was 
but  a  mile  to  the  village  and  I  could  go  quickly  and 
not  be  missed  from  the  house.  Also  it  gave  me  an 
opportunity  to  ask  Mabley  if  he  knew  cigarette- 
smokers  among  the  men  or  boys  about  the  place  or 

217 


2i 8  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

who  came  about.  He  did  not,  however.  He  said 
he  had  not  noticed. 

At  the  village  main  street  I  was  set  down  and  I 
entered  the  first  tobacco  store  I  found.  The  clerk 
there  identified  my  cigarette  stub  quickly  as  from  the 
kind  sold  under  the  dulcet  name  of  Peacherino,  and 
I  purchased  a  box.  I  was  walking  back  to  The 
Hazels  within  twenty  minutes  from  the  time  I 
started,  and  I  had  nearly  reached  the  place  when, 
as  I  neared  the  cross-road,  I  saw  an  automobile 
coming  at  a  high  pace  down  the  main  road  toward 
me  from  the  direction  in  which  I  was  heading. 

I  was  walking  in  the  path  at  the  roadside  and 
watched  to  see  the  car  pass  me,  when,  as  the  ma- 
chine neared  the  cross-road,  it  slowed  down 
abruptly,  made  a  skidding  turn  and  was  off  down 
the  cross-road.  And  in  the  turn  I  recognized  the 
people  in  the  car,  for  the  distance  was  not  greater 
than  a  hundred  yards.  The  man  driving  was  King 
and  the  girl  beside  him  was  unquestionably  Donna 
Philbric. 

It  was  a  surprise.  It  was  still  early  in  the  morn- 
ing for  pleasure  riding,  and  more  than  that,  there 
had  hardly  been  the  spirit  for  such  an  outing  evi- 
dent in  the  face  of  the  girl  when  I  had  seen  her 
last.  The  sudden  fear  that  something  was  wrong 
at  the  house  came  to  start  me  running  on  the  path 
with  a  half -panicky  notion  that  I  had  been 
absent  when  some  new  matter  of  moment  had 
come  to  pass.  And  in  five  minutes  I  was  in 


A  Sleeping  Potion  219 

the  porch  and  old  John  Kent  was  letting  me  in. 

"  What  is  it,  John?  "  I  asked,  without  preliminary. 
"  I  saw  King  and  Miss  Philbric  on  the  road." 

"  They've  gone  up  to  town,  sir,  to  see  the  judge," 
answered  the  old  man.  He  was  much  excited. 

"The  judge!" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Mr.  King,  sir,  brought  the  news  that 
they  were  going  to — to  send  the  officers  after  Mr. 
Hal  to-day.  And  Miss  Donna's  gone — to  plead, 
sir." 

"To  plead!" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  But  they  turned  off  the  town  road,  John,"  ob- 
jected I,  mystified. 

"Did  they,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  at  the  first  turn." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  don't  understand.  They 
were  going  to  town." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  never  mind.  King  ought  to 
know.  Has  Hal  gotten  up  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Does  he  know?" 

'''  Yes,  sir — worse  luck." 

"  Worse  luck,  eh  ?    Is  he  cut  up  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so,  sir." 

"  I'll  go  up  and  see  him,"  said  I. 

My  mind  was  filled  with  a  multitude  of  swift 
thoughts,  but  one  rose  predominant.  If  Hal  were 
threatened  with  arrest  it  might  be  a  time  for  quick 
action  indeed.  I  ran  up  the  steps  as  fast  as  I  could 


22O  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

make  the  jumps.  At  the  top  I  nearly  ran  over  Aunt 
Charlotte. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Randall !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I'm  glad 
you've  come.  I've  had  a  dreadful  time." 

Aunt  Charlotte  was  nervous.  I  did  not  heed  her 
much.  I  pushed  for  Hal's  room. 

"  Sh-sh-sh !  "  she  whispered,  catching  my  arm. 
"  I've  just  given  him  another  sleeping  potion  to 
quiet  him.  He  woke  up  nervous  and  half  distracted 
and  the  news  that  the  men  were  coming  drove  him 
nearly  wild." 

I  stopped  and  looked  at  her  a  bit  alarmed.  An- 
other sleeping  potion?  Well,  perhaps  that  wasn't 
a  bad  idea.  Surely  it  wouldn't  hurt  him  as  much 
as  suspense.  I  said  so  doubtfully. 

"  I  had  to  trick  him  into  taking  it,"  she  said. 
"  I  knew  he  wouldn't  if  he  understood  what  it  was. 
He  was  about  wild." 

I  turned  back  from  the  boy's  door.  "  And  King 
and  Miss  Philbric  went  to  stop  the  officers  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes — oh  yes — if  they  can,"  she  answered. 

"  What  chance  had  they  ?  " 

"  I  can't  see  that  they  had  any.  But  Donna  was 
determined." 

I  looked  at  the  fluttered  little  woman.  "  Well," 
I  said.  "  I  guess  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  not 
to  disturb  Hal.  Let  him  sleep  again." 

I  went  down  the  stairs  with  her,  but  I  was  think- 
ing not  of  what  she  had  answered  me  nor  of  what 


A  Sleeping  Potion  221 

else  I  might  find  to  say.  I  was  thinking  what  I 
would  do  if  word  came  that  Donna  and  King  had 
made  a  failure  of  their  enterprise.  And  I  could 
not  believe  that  there  could  be  anything  else  but 
failure  ahead  for  them. 

I  excused  myself  from  Aunt  Charlotte  and  went 
out  again.  A  scheme  was  revolving  in  my  brain 
to  the  considerable  heating  of  it.  I  went  to  the 
garage  and  found  Hal's  chauffeur  there.  The  man 
knew  me  by  sight  now,  though  I  had  not  talked  to 
him,  and  I  liked  his  appearance.  He  looked  more 
like  a  substantial  country  boy  than  the  city  man. 

"  Mr.  Philbric  thinks  of  letting  me  take  him  for 
a  spin  in  the  car  this  morning,"  said  I.  "  What 
are  your  cars  ?  " 

He  told  me.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  already  knew, 
for  I  had  taken  pains  to  discover  what  were  the 
two  motors  the  Philbrics  kept  in  their  garage.  I 
was  familiar  with  the  handling  of  both,  for  I  had 
manipulated  not  a  few  machines.  "  Good,"  said  I. 
"  How  soon  can  you  have  the  big  one  ready?  " 

"  Twenty  minutes,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Well,"  I  answered.  "  I  may  want  it  very 
quickly  when  I  want  it." 

I  looked  at  him  hard.  He  looked  sound  to  me, 
and  his  glance  did  not  waver  under  mine. 

"  All  right,  sir,"  he  answered. 

;'  You  are  familiar  with  the  trouble  at  the  house, 
of  course?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,  sir." 


222  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Then  don't  say  anything  about  it  but  have  that 
car  ready  for  use  at  a  minute's  notice  and  keep  it 
so,  and  you  will  do  more  for  Hal,  and,  incidentally, 
for  me,  than  in  any  other  way." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  he  promised,  and  I  believed  him. 

I  went  back  to  the  house.  I  was  more  than  half 
of  the  opinion  that  we  would  have  to  face  our  crisis 
that  morning,  and  the  will  to  fight  hardened  in  me 
— to  fight  by  running.  I  would  carry  Hal  off 
whether  he  would  or  no,  if  the  alarm  came,  and  I 
set  old  John  and  young  Foyle  to  watch  the  road  for 
signs  that  might  precede  word  from  King  and 
Donna. 

I  met  no  one  in  the  halls.  John  was  out  on  watch 
and  Aunt  Charlotte  had  gone  somewhere  into  the 
realms  of  the  kitchen.  I  stole  up  to  Hal's  room  and 
opened  the  door.  Over  the  back  of  the  big  chair  by 
the  wide  open  window  I  could  see  the  top  of  the 
red-and-white  knit  skating-cap  he  wore  when  he  sat 
in  the  open  air.  I  went  quietly  to  his  side  and  looked 
down  at  his  face.  His  eyes  were  closed  and  the 
pallor  about  his  lips  was  more  pronounced  than 
before.  As  I  looked  at  him  now,  too,  his  amazing 
likeness  to  his  sister,  which  seemed  to  have  grown 
nearly  absolute  in  these  days  when  his  suffering 
had  given  him  almost  an  ethereal  look,  impressed 
me  more  than  ever,  and  I  looked  at  him  with  a 
queer  sense  that  it  would  be  easy  indeed  to  make 
me  believe  that  it  was  the  sleeping  face  of  the  girl 
herself  I  looked  upon.  I  wondered  at  the  delicate 


A  Sleeping  Potion  223 

beauty  of  the  lines  of  mouth  and  chin,  at  the  straight 
brows  and  long  dark  lashes  that  lay  quite  still. 

It  was  a  bit  startling  to  see  how  quiet  he  was.  I 
felt  for  his  wrist  and  tested  his  pulse.  It  was  steady 
and  full  and  seemed  approximately  normal,  but, 
poor  chap,  I  pitied  him  deeply  as  I  felt  the  slightness 
of  his  hand  and  thought  of  what  all  these  events 
must  mean  to  him  in  suffering  and  of  how  brave 
and  patient  he  had  been. 

I  went  to  my  own  room  and  threw  off  the  coat 
I  had  been  wearing.  Drawing  on  a  heavier  one 
I  slipped  my  cap  into  the  pocket  and  went  down- 
stairs. I  felt  that  I  was  doing  all  that  I  had  a 
right  to  do  and  I  would  not  go  further  without 
Donna's  approval  unless  emergency  pressed.  I  went 
into  the  library  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  a  message 
from  King,  expecting  one  fully.  The  fire  was  burn- 
ing on  the  hearth  as  usual  in  careful  preparation  for 
Hal's  comfort  when  he  should  come  down,  and  I 
watched  the  tiny  curling  flames  behind  the  grate 
with  an  odd  feeling  that  they  were  live  entities  that 
had  been  present  here  through  all  this  week  of  wild 
happenings  and  that  they  alone  held  the  secret 
which,  if  they  could  tell,  would  suddenly  solve  our 
mystery  and  remove  the  threat  that  was  now  immi- 
nent. Why  should  such  things  happen  ?  How  could 
so  strange  and  unsolvable  a  matter  come  upon  lives 
as  peaceful  and  quiet  and  inoffensive  as  those  of 
this  boy  and  girl?  And  why  should  an  inscrutable 
fortune,  or  providence,  have  brought  my  life  to 


224  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

touch  theirs  just  at  this  point?  Surely,  though, 
there  was  an  answer  to  this  last.  It  would  be  a  pity 
if  my  chance  coming  were  not  to  help  them. 

I  was  sitting  staring  at  the  fire  and  dreaming  over 
all  the  events  that  had  followed  upon  that  slightest 
of  happenings,  the  delay  of  the  train,  which  had 
commenced  it  all  for  me,  when  I  suddenly  became 
conscious  of  running  feet  on  the  veranda  outside 
and  then  in  the  hall,  and,  by  the  time  I  was  up  and 
at  the  door,  old  John,  his  face  distorted  with  anx- 
iety, was  facing  me. 

"  They've  come !  "  he  gasped. 

"Who?"  I  asked,  half  reassured.  "  Is  it  King 
and  Miss  Donna  ?  " 

"  My  God,  no !  "  he  cried.  "  It's  the  sheriff  and 
two  deputies.  They're  driving  in  now.  I  saw  them 
from  the  corner  of  the  fence." 

He  was  trembling.  I  reached  out  and  took  hold 
of  his  arms. 

"  John,"  I  said,  "  I'm  going  to  run  away  with  Hal 
— if  they  are  after  him.  Understand?  I'm  going  to 
his  room  now  and  shall  take  him  down  the  back 
way  to  the  garage.  Send  me  word  there  what  they 
say." 

I  turned  and  sprang  up  the  stairs.  I  felt  no  hesi- 
tation now.  I  was  ready  to  fight  the  officers  them- 
selves, if  need  be,  to  take  the  boy  away  from  the 
thing  he  would  have  to  face  if  they  served  their  war- 
rant. At  Hal's  door  I  stopped  to  listen  and  heard 
voices  outside  in  the  drive.  Some  parley  was  going 


A  Sleeping  Potion  225 

on.  I  entered»the  room  softly  and  went  to  the  boy's 
side.  He  was  still  sleeping  quietly. 

"  Hal,"  I  whispered,  shaking  his  shoulder  gently. 

He  did  not  stir. 

"  Hal !  "    I  was  a  bit  more  vigorous. 

He  lay  perfectly  still,  his  regular  breathing  un- 
disturbed. I  hesitated.  If  I  should  waken  him 
roughly  it  was  possible  that  he  might  not  have  full 
control  of  his  nerves.  Perhaps — perhaps  this  was 
luck — this  sleep.  I  looked  down  at  his  face,  the 
gentleness  of  which  now  made  my  heart  go  out  to 
him  anew.  Dear  old  chap !  He  had  taken  to  me 
and  trusted  me  to  stand  by  him.  I  would,  and 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  slam  of  a  door  downstairs. 
I  stooped  on  the  instant,  slipped  one  hand  behind 
his  shoulders  and  the  other  under  his  knees,  and 
lifted  him,  bundled  as  he  was  in  great  coat  and 
robe.  Then  I  turned,  kicked  open  the  door  and 
strode  down  the  hall  to  the  back  stairway. 

The  weight  of  my  burden  was  slight  to  me.  I 
could  have  carried  twice  the  avoirdupois  easily.  So 
it  was  no  trick  to  make  my  descent  to  the  small  hall 
from  which  opened  a  door  to  the  garage  path.  I 
moved  with  some  care  but  I  was  not  slow,  and  I 
had  reached  the  door  itself  when  suddenly,  through 
a  doorway  on  my  left,  some  one  came  swiftly  out. 
I  turned  and  faced  with  astonishment  the  French 
maid,  Aileen. 

I  have  no  doubt  I  stared  at  her  with  full  evi- 
dence written  on  my  face  that  I  considered  this  a 


226  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

mischance.     She  certainly  stared  at  me.     But  I  re- 
covered quickly. 

"  Don't  make  a  noise,"  I  said.  "  Open  the  door 
and  let  me  out." 

She  moved  instantly  to  obey.  In  another  second 
I  was  in  the  path  between  the  bushes  and  on  my 
way  to  the  garage,  and  I  am  free  to  say  I  ran.  What 
this  maid  might  do,  how  far  her  loyalty  extended 
or  what  was  her  allegiance,  were  open  questions. 
She  might  give  an  alarm  as  quickly  as  she  under- 
stood what  was  going  on.  She  might  be  faithful. 
Somehow  I  hoped  for  the  latter. 

At  the  small  door  of  the  garage  I  found  the  chauf- 
feur. I  did  not  know  his  name  but  I  knew  his  kind, 
when  he  stepped  back,  held  open  the  door  and  spoke 
swiftly. 

"It's  ready,  sir,"  he  said.  "This  one!"  He 
indicated  the  big  blue  car  nearer  to  us.  "  Shall  I 
start  the  engine  or  open  the  back  gate  first  ?  " 

"  Man,  you're  a  trump !  "  said  I,  with  gratitude 
real  indeed.  "  Open  the  gate  first.  It  is  on  the 
lane,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  the  lane  leads  to  the  side  road," 
he  answered. 

He  did  not  pause  for  more  but  ran  out  and  away, 
while  I  lifted  the  quiet  little  sleeper  in  my  arms  and 
deposited  him  in  the  deep  cushions  of  the  tonneau. 
Then  I  stood  still  and  listened  an  instant.  No 
sounds  came  in  to  me.  I  pulled  blankets,  wool  and 
rubber  from  the  shelves  behind  the  machine  and 


A  Sleeping  Potion  227 

covered  the  boy  as  he  lay  prone  in  the  big  rear  seat. 
He  would  be  quite  hidden  from  view  of  people  on 
the  road  as  he  lay  there,  and  I  liked  that.  Yes,  it 
was  luck,  this  sleep !  Then  I  went  to  the  big  doors 
before  the  machine  and  found  them  unbarred  and 
ready  to  push  open. 

I  had  turned  back  and  was  standing  by  the  mo- 
tor's crank  only  waiting  the  return  of  the  chauffeur 
to  crank  up,  when  suddenly  the  silence  was  broken. 
A  long,  wild,  piercing  scream — a  woman's  scream — 
rang  out  across  the  lawns,  evidently  from  the  house, 
and  cry  on  cry  followed  it. 

"  Help !  Oh  help !  Quick,  quick !  Here  he  is ! 
Here !  He's  getting  away !  " 


CHAPTER  XX 
WITH  CHANCE  AS  PILOT 

T  COULD  think  of  but  one  thing.  It  was  the  maid 
•••  I  had  left  at  the  little  door.  Why  she  should 
have  waited  till  now  to  give  alarm  I  did  not  know, 
but  alarm  she  was  giving  without  a  doubt. 

I  turned  instantly  and  pushed  the  big  garage  door 
back.  Then  with  one  swift  lucky  turn  I  cranked  the 
big  machine.  Next  moment  I  was  at  the  wheel  and 
was  feeling  the  car  start  beautifully  under  my 
touch.  And  out  I  went  into  the  drive.  I  did  not 
even  glance  toward  the  house.  I  looked  only  for 
the  path  and  the  gate  at  the  rear,  and  the  heavy 
tires  of  my  machine  sent  the  gravel  flying  against 
the  front  of  the  garage  as  I  gave  the  motor  all  the 
head  I  dared.  And  when  I  spied  the  lane  gate 
round  the  first  turn  my  man  was  there  holding  it 
open  for  me. 

The  machine  was  in  excellent  condition  and  ran 
with  absolute  smoothness.  As  I  turned  into  the  nar- 
row lane  I  heard  shouts  raised  behind  me,  but  they 
were  at  some  distance  and  I  felt  sure  I  had  not  yet 
been  seen.  I  ran  the  car  down  to  the  cross-road  and 
turned  to  the  right,  away  from  the  house ;  and  pres- 

228 


With  Chance  as  Pilot  229 

ently  we  were  flying  off  between  the  fields  which 
had  yet  the  morning  dew  upon  them,  and  that  were 
sweet  with  fresh  scents  of  morning. 

I  looked  back  upon  an  empty  road  when  the  free 
running  gave  me  an  opportunity.  Despite  the  alarm 
my  start  seemed  to  have  been  good.  I  advanced  my 
spark,  however,  and  let  the  car  do  its  prettiest  on 
the  straight  smooth  course  for  two  unbroken  miles. 
Then  I  slowed,  turned  east  into  a  better  highway 
and  began  to  consider  what  to  do. 

We  were  fugitives  from  the  law,  Hal  and  I — a 
cruel,  pitiless  law  it  seemed  to  me,  from  which  we 
had  no  choice  but  to  run  away  in  search  of  safety 
and  justice.  We  were  outlaws  in  a  sense,  and  in 
that  sense  every  man  would  be  our  enemy.  Search 
there  would  be,  widespread  and  immediate.  No 
means  would  be  neglected  to  send  the  alarm  far 
and  near.  The  chances  of  escape  lay  only  in  swift- 
ness now  at  the  start  and  in  an  early  change  of  the 
car  for  other  conveyance,  or  a  plunge  into  the  moun- 
tain wilderness  itself.  It  was  the  latter  I  had  in 
mind. 

I  was  not  certain  whether  or  not  it  was  fortu- 
nate that  the  day  was  less  bright  and  sunny  than 
those  immediately  preceding  it  had  been.  There 
was  a  look  of  threatening  rain  in  the  sky  and  the 
smell  of  it  in  the  air.  A  storm  might  be  an  advan- 
tage if  we  could  get  a  good  start,  for  a  heavy  rain 
would  make  it  less  easy  to  stir  the  people  of  the 
countryside  to  look  for  us.  Also,  a  heavy  rain 


230  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

would  make  good  roads  bad  very  quickly  and  seri- 
ously handicap  us. 

I  had  almost  no  knowledge  of  the  country,  too, 
with  but  the  railroad  rides  through  the  foothills  and 
one  night  gallop  to  give  me  acquaintance.  But  I 
knew  the  general  direction  of  the  mountains  and  I 
could  make  for  them.  Once  on  the  edge  of  the  wild 
country  I  hoped  to  find  means  to  make  pursuit  dif- 
ficult, for  I  was  no  novice  in  the  woods. 

I  had  met  no  one  on  the  first  two  miles  of  road. 
I  began  to  meet  farmers  driving  toward  town  on 
the  larger  highway.  I  could  not  see  that  they  re- 
garded me  with  any  special  attention.  The  friendly 
nod  that  most  country-dwellers  usually  give  to  the 
stranger — even  the  stranger  in  the  motor  car — was 
a  common  greeting  as  I  sped  by  or  slowed  my  ma- 
chine for  a  skittish  horse.  And  so  I  put  another 
two  or  three  miles  behind  us.  I  thought  best,  as 
we  neared  a  small  cross-roads  town  I  did  not  know, 
to  turn  off  to  the  left  again  and  pass  it.  It  was 
too  near  Hazelhurst  for  comfort.  So  I  rounded 
the  place  and  scudded  on  toward  the  growing  blue 
haze  of  the  hills. 

I  met  children  on  their  way  to  school,  with  their 
lunch  baskets  and  books,  and  realized  how  very  early 
it  still  was.  To  me  it  seemed  hours  since  I  had  taken 
my  ride  to  town  with  Mabley.  It  was  not  much 
more  than  an  hour.  Some  of  the  little  people  cried 
out  to  me  to  give  them  a  ride,  but  I  had  to  shake 
my  head  at  them  and  run  on.  I  suppose  the  big, 


With  Chance  as  Pilot  231 

apparently  empty  tonneau  tempted  the  small  boys. 

As  minutes  stretched  into  quarter-  and  half -hours 
I  began  to  lose  my  tense  excitement.  I  stopped  once 
and  got  out  to  look  well  to  my  charge,  and  I  found 
him  sleeping  on  and  on  in  perfect  comfort  and  un- 
disturbed quiet.  And  it  seemed  almost  a  joke,  this 
kidnapping  of  him,  as  I  anticipated  his  surprise 
when  he  should  wake.  He  was  certainly  none  the 
worse  for  this  ride,  for  the  car  could  hardly  be  less 
comfortable  on  these  roads  than  his  very  bed  at 
home.  I  covered  him  carefully,  for  the  air  was 
slightly  cooler  than  it  had  been  yesterday,  and  then 
I  mounted  to  my  place  again  and  sped  on. 

The  hills  crept  nearer  to  us.  That  was  how  it 
looked,  at  least,  as  I  kept  the  nose  of  the  big  ma- 
chine pointed  ever  toward  what  seemed  their  nearest 
point  and  held  as  fast  a  pace  as  I  dared,  with  my 
sleeping  boy  to  look  out  for.  How  long  it  might 
be  safe  to  run  the  car  openly  on  the  road  I  did  not 
know,  but  I  took  mile  after  mile,  as  it  were,  from 
the  hand  of  fortune,  and  added  it  to  the  distance 
between  us  and  our  enemies. 

But  if  we  were  succeeding  in  running  away  from 
the  men  who  had  come  to  look  for  Hal  at  The 
Hazels,  we  were  surely  running  into  the  coming 
storm,  as  became  apparent  after  a  time.  The  wind 
freshened  in  my  face  and  grew  cooler  and  quite 
damp.  The  clouds  were  blackening  about  the  moun- 
tain-tops, now  visible  away  back  in  behind  the  nearer 
hills,  which  had  hidden  them  from  my  view  in  the 


232  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

valley.  Thunder  rumbled  off  there  in  the  crags  and 
above  the  dark  woods,  like  a  moody  grumbling  of 
the  hills  themselves,  at  our  very  coming.  I  felt 
some  apprehension  as  to  the  effect  of  a  severe  storm 
on  Hal,  as  it  became  more  and  more  evident  that 
the  storm  would  be  severe  when  it  broke.  I  could 
keep  him  from  getting  seriously  wet,  perhaps, 
though  the  car  was  an  open  one  and  I  had  only  the 
rubber  blankets  to  shield  him.  But  I  feared  his 
waking  to  a  thunder  crack  and  in  a  strange  situation. 

I  stopped  again,  decided  to  waken  him  at  once 
and  explain  to  him;  but  I  found  that  the  drug  had 
him  still  in  its  velvet  grip  and  I  could  not  rouse  him 
without  greater  roughness  than  I  chose  to  use.  I 
felt  a  touch  of  anxiety  about  the  effect  of  such  a  dose 
as  the  aunt  had  given  him,  especially  following  the 
one  of  the  night  before — but  his  pulse  was  still 
regular  and  good,  and  I  felt  some  relief  in  the 
lessening  of  my  problem  by  the  elimination  of  the 
need  for  immediate  explanation  of  the  situation. 
So  I  drove  on  and  on,  up  the  gradually  rising  ground 
into  the  hill-roads  and  into  the  face  of  the  gather- 
ing storm. 

The  way  was  rather  blind  to  me,  but  I  had  fol- 
lowed each  road  that  looked  best  and  that  led  west, 
ever  westward,  toward  the  high  ground.  But  I 
had  passed  no  more  towns.  Once  I  saw  a  village  at 
a  distance  to  the  south  but  did  not  go  near  it.  It 
was  now  late  enough  for  word  of  our  flight  to  have 
spread  among  the  towns  of  our  part  of  the  state. 


With  Chance  as  Pilot  233 

Indeed,  when  I  looked  at  my  watch  I  was  aston- 
ished that  nearly  three  hours  had  passed  since  we 
left  the  house.  As  it  happened,  the  car's  speed- 
ometer had  not  been  freshly  set,  and  so  I  had  no 
means  of  judging  how  far  I  had  come.  I  had  let 
the  motor  fly  on  smooth  and  level  roads  and  had 
cut  down  only  as  much  as  seemed  absolutely  neces- 
sary in  those  that  were  less  favorable.  I  knew 
I  had  covered  considerable  distance,  and  it  seemed 
that  I  might  safely  conclude  that  I  had  aver- 
aged twenty-five  miles  an  hour.  The  nearness 
of  the  mountains  confirmed  this  notion.  Where  I 
was,  so  far  as  exact  location  was  concerned,  was  a 
matter  of  complete  uncertainty.  If  I  should  even 
enter  a  town  I  would  not  know  what  town  it  might 
be  till  I  could  inquire. 

But  I  had  not  thought  I  could  miss  a  plain  road. 
How  I  happened  to  do  it  I  do  not  know.  I  think 
I  chose  wrong  at  a  fork — though  wrong  perhaps  I 
should  not  call  it  now.  At  any  rate,  I  did  drive 
at  last  into  what  I  supposed  was  a  highway,  but 
which  turned  out  to  be  a  blind  path  that  slowly  and 
surely  dwindled  into  a  weed-grown  trackless  lane, 
and  then  came  to  an  end  at  last  on  the  top  of  a 
low  hill  and  in  the  edge  of  the  woods.  I  crossed 
a  bridge  over  a  considerable  stream  that  had  cut 
a  deep  gully  in  the  hillside,  just  before  I  found  that 
I  was  in  a  cul-de-sac,  as  it  were,  and  this  fact  puz- 
zled me.  But  I  had  the  strongest  aversion  to  turn- 
ing back. 


234  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  got  out  of  the  car  and  made  a  quick  survey  of 
the  ground.  The  thing  was  worse  than  annoying; 
it  was  almost  alarming  at  the  moment.  With  the 
woods  before  me  there  was  a  stretch  of  at  least 
a  mile  behind  to  recover  if  I  would  turn  out  of 
this  path  I  had  chosen,  and  to  retrace  any  part  of 
our  journey  meant  dangerous  delay.  It  was,  then, 
with  relief  and  thankfulness  that  I  discovered  a  cart- 
track  among  the  trees,  apparently  leading  away  to 
some  road  further  north  that  would  lead  up  between 
the  big  hills.  I  had  now  approached,  and  I  turned 
the  car  into,  the  new  and  rougher  road,  with  prompt- 
ness and  self -congratulation. 

I  had  not  run  far  among  the  trees,  however,  be- 
fore a  freshening  of  the  wind  in  their  tops  and  some 
heavy  spatters  of  rain  warned  me  that  the  storm 
was  close.  I  knew  that  I  must  make  such  prepara- 
tions as  I  could  to  weather  it,  and  decided.  I  began 
looking  for  a  favorable  place  in  which  to  stop  the 
car  and  now  regretted  that  I  had  come  in  among 
the  trees  at  all.  A  heavy  wind  might  make  the 
woods  a  more  dangerous  place  than  the  open.  As 
I  peered  through  the  trees  ahead  and  to  the  sides 
in  the  gathering  gloom,  I  was  feeling  anything  but 
joyous  over  the  prospect,  when  suddenly  I  spied 
the  low  roof  of  some  sort  of  building  barely  above 
the  undergrowth,  in  the  midst  of  a  very  thicket  of 
brush  and  young  trees,  and  I  hailed  the  sight  with 
delight.  Anything  like  a  shelter  would  be  better 
than  this  exposure,  and  I  at  once  took  the  place  for 


With  Chance  as  Pilot  235 

a  disused  sugar  camp,  as  most  of  the  trees  about  us 
were  maples. 

I  turned  the  car  out  of  the  path  and  ran  in 
among  the  trees  as  far  as  I  could  conveniently  go. 
Then  stopping  my  engine,  I  jumped  out  and  ran  to 
the  clump  of  bushes.  On  the  side  toward  me,  it 
was  impervious  to  ready  penetration  and  I  began 
circling.  Presently  I  found  an  opening  and  pushed 
quickly  in.  The  light  was  growing  dimmer  mo- 
mentarily and  the  rain  was  beginning  to  fall  fast. 
I  could  see  little  enough,  but  the  bulk  of  the  small 
house,  quite  dark  and  deserted,  loomed  before  me. 
The  path  was  not  hard  to  follow  and  seemed  to  be 
well  worn.  I  hastened  to  look  for  a  door  and  pres- 
ently I  came  out  in  a  tiny  four-yard-square  clear- 
ing and  saw  that  my  guess  at  a  deserted  sugar- 
camp  was  doubtless  correct.  A  moment  later  I  had 
reached  the  door,  which  I  could  see  now  only  as  a 
dark  cavernous  opening — for  it  was  open  to  the 
night  and  the  storm. 

I  did  not  stop  to  investigate.  I  dared  not  leave 
Hal  alone  in  the  car  longer.  I  turned  and  ran  back 
as  fast  as  the  fading  daylight  would  let  me,  rounded 
the  thicket  and  stumbled  to  the  car,  with  the  rain 
beginning  to  beat  a  sharp  tattoo  on  my  shoulders 
and  cap.  Reaching  the  tonneau  I  opened  the  door, 
stepped  in,  and  lifted  my  living  freight,  blankets, 
rubber  covers  and  all,  and  climbed  down  again  to 
the  ground.  Laying  him  on  the  ground  for  an  in- 
stant I  dragged  out  the  tarpaulin  and  jerked  it 


236  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

hastily  about  the  car.  Then  I  raised  Hal  again 
in  my  arms. 

I  found  the  boy,  light  as  he  was,  with  all  the 
trappings  a  cumbersome  burden  now,  however,  and 
it  was  something  of  a  struggle  to  get  him  back  to 
the  house  in  the  thicket.  The  thing  was  done,  but 
only  after  what  began  to  be  a  fight  with  the  driving 
rain  and  the  tugging  wind.  I  was,  indeed,  half 
blinded  by  flying  stuff  that  the  gale  picked  up  from 
the  floor  of  the  wood  and  sent  hurtling  around  me 
with  the  water.  But  I  made  it,  and  staggered  finally 
into  a  dark  interior,  which  seemed  to  have  at  least 
the  merit  of  being  tight  and  dry. 

I  laid  the  boy  on  the  ground  and  pulled  the 
rubber  cover  away  from  over  his  head.  Then  I 
stripped  off  my  own  drenched  coat  and  cap  and 
turned  to  close  the  door.  The  wind,  however,  was 
driving  from  the  opposite  direction,  and,  as  there 
seemed  to  be  no  other  opening  in  the  place,  I  con- 
cluded to  leave  the  door  open.  I  felt  for  my 
matches  and  found  them  safe  and  dry;  but  before 
I  could  strike  a  light,  a  sudden  bright  and  blinding 
flash  of  lightning  abruptly  illumined  the  whole  place, 
and,  to  my  utter  amaze,  I  recognized  it  as  one 
recognizes  the  face  of  an  enemy. 

The  whole  of  the  interior  of  the  small  room  in 
which  I  was  stood  out  for  a  half  second  with  unreal 
clearness.  Then  it  was  gone  again  in  utter  black- 
ness. But  the  vision  persisted  before  my  eyes  as  if 
the  light  had  not  diminished.  I  saw  walls  of  logs. 


With  Chance  as  Pilot  237 

I  saw  a  heavy  door  turned  inward.  On  its  face 
was  a  bar  of  oak  and  a  bolt  of  steel.  I  saw  a  heap 
of  refuse  in  the  center  of  the  floor  that  proved  the 
place  once  to  have  been  a  stable  for  horses.  I  saw 
a  little  heap  of  straw  in  the  corner  to  the  right  and 
on  it  a  tumbled  blanket  and  a  loose  bundle  of  cloth- 
ing. I  saw  a  heavy  board  roof  and  the  very  chinks 
at  its  corners  showed  bright  in  irregular  streaks 
that  seemed  like  erratic  branchings  of  the  lightning 
that  illumined  them.  I  was  in  the  hut  that  had  so 
recently  been  a  prison  for  me  on  Cold  Spring  Farm. 
And  I  saw  before  me  the  heap  of  blankets  that 
wrapped  my  companion,  with  the  rubber  gleaming 
wet,  as  glittering  bright  at  the  instant  as  black  ice 
in  a  firelight,  with  the  white  calm  face  of  the  sleep- 
ing boy  above  them. 

I  could  have  cried  out  in  sheer  amazement,  but 
the  instant  rush  of  thought  upon  the  possible  com- 
plications, the  possible  advantages,  the  astounding 
accident — if  such  guidance  of  chance  can  be  so 
named — checked  even  the  impulse  to  expression. 
And  there  I  stood,  with  the  lightning  now  playing  in 
a  swift  flutter  of  flashes  and  the  thunder  coming 
crashing  in  close  and  fast,  and  looked  upon  this 
curiosity  of  contingencies  with  a  mixture  of  feel- 
ings I  can  only  describe  as  fascinated  bewilderment. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
MATCH-LIGHT 

BUT  a  moan  from  Hal  brought  me  back  to  ac- 
tion.    The  light  in  the  hut  was  sufficient  for 
me  to  see  him  moving  under  the  blankets  and  I  knew 
that  he  would  wake  to  sharp  alarm  if  I  did  not 
reassure  him.     I  spoke  aloud  quickly. 

"  Hal,  old  man,"  I  said,  "  you're  all  right.  We've 
run  away  into  the  woods,  that's  all;  and  we've 
struck  a  thunderstorm.  You've  been  asleep." 

I  struck  a  match  as  promptly  as  I  could  and  held 
it  so  that  it  would  light  my  own  face,  while  I  looked 
down  at  him.  He  lay  still  again  now,  but  his  eyes 
were  wide  open  and  staring  painfully,  and  I  could 
fairly  feel  the  shock  of  the  surprise  he  must  be  un- 
dergoing. I  dropped  upon  my  knees  beside  him  and 
put  my  hand  on  his  hand.  He  was  quite  dry  but 
my  hands  were  wet,  I  discovered. 

"  It's  Randall,  Hal— Dan,"  I  said.  "  You  needn't 
be  at  all  alarmed.  Your  aunt  gave  you  a  sleeping- 
potion  again  and  I  carried  you  off  while  you  slum- 
bered. We  are  in  the  foothills  west  of  Hazelhurst 
and  it's  raining  pitchforks  and  screw-drivers  out- 
side. We've  found  a  log  hut  that — that  makes  a 
fair  shelter  till  the  worst  of  this  passes." 

238 


Match-Light  239 

I  struck  a  fresh  light  and  still  held  it  close  to  my 
own  face,  but  I  had  to  talk  loudly,  for  the  lightning 
was  snapping  and  the  thunder  rattling  about  us  as 
if  we  were  under  fire  at  close  range.  The  roar  of 
the  rain,  too,  was  tremendous,  and  I  understood 
quickly  that  it  was  a  veritable  cloudburst.  Luck 
was  indeed  with  us  in  one  respect.  We  were  better 
sheltered  here  than  we  could  have  been  in  any  other 
place  we  were  likely  to  have  found.  But  the  boy's 
eyes  stared  at  me  almost  as  if  he  did  not  know  me. 

I  went  on  talking  rapidly,  patting  his  head  as  if 
he  were  a  child.  "  It's  nothing  but  a  heavy  hill- 
storm,  old  fellow.  We're  snug  as  can  be  and  the 
car's  just  outside,  covered — pretty  well  at  least — 
with  the  tarpaulin.  We  won't  drown  and  we  can 
get  into  drier  country  quickly  when  the  rain  stops." 

I  watched  his  eyes.  They  were  fastened  unwink- 
ingly  on  me  and  his  face  was  very  white.  As  my 
match-light  died  I  thought  I  saw  him  shudder.  I 
tucked  the  blankets  in  around  him  and  under  him 
by  the  glare  of  the  lightning.  I  was  distressed  at 
his  silent  rigidity.  Presently  I  bent  close  over  him. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now?  "  I  asked  him.  "  Are 
you  cold?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  and,  as  I  could  not  see  his 
face  sufficiently  well  in  the  fitful  flashings  of  the 
electric  play,  I  lighted  another  match.  He  closed 
his  eyes  suddenly  as  the  flame  rose,  as  if  he  had 
been  dazzled,  but  it  seemed,  also,  to  me,  that  his 
tenseness  relaxed.  I  knelt  and  watched  him  anx- 


240  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

iously  for  a  long  minute  while  my  little  stick  of  pine 
gave  me  the  opportunity.  As  the  light  went  out 
again  I  bent  close  to  listen  to  his  breathing.  I  could 
not  hear  it,  but  I  felt  warmth  upon  my  cheek  and 
a  sudden  stir  of  tenderness  as  if  toward  a  helpless 
little  brother  took  hold  of  me. 

It  was  just  possible,  I  thought,  that  the  effect  of 
the  drug  had  not  passed  and  that  sleep  might  again 
overpower  the  boy.  I  hoped  for  that.  I  felt  for 
and  found  the  pulse  in  his  temple  and  thought  it 
high,  but  it  did  not  seem  seriously  rapid.  I  got 
upon  my  feet  again,  uncertain  what  to  do.  There 
was  no  fireplace  in  the  hut,  so  that  to  make  a  blaze 
would  involve  putting  up  with  considerable  smoke. 
Yet  a  fire  would  add  cheer  to  our  situation  and  I 
could  hardly  consider  it  dangerous  so  long  as  this 
rain  lasted.  No  one  was  likely  to  be  abroad  in  such 
a  storm. 

I  remembered  that  among  the  articles  of  clothing 
I  had  left  in  the  hut  was  a  coat.  The  chill  in  the 
air  made  this  chance  seem  good  fortune  again.  I 
went  to  the  straw  cot  and  found  the  garment  with- 
put  difficulty.  It  was  quite  dry  and  I  slipped  into 
it.  Then  I  made  up  my  mind  to  kick  together  such 
stuff  as  there  was  in  the  hut  and  start  a  small  blaze, 
for  the  chill  was  creeping  in  rather  uncomfortably. 

I  spoke  to  Hal  again  to  reassure  him  if  he  were 
awake.  But  he  gave  no  answer  and  I  became  con- 
tentedly sure  that  he  was  asleep  again.  So  I  booted 
a  spot  bare  at  the  end  of  the  hut  sufficiently  far 


Match-Light  241 

from  the  wall  and  gathered  enough  chips  with  loose 
bark  from  the  inside  of  the  undressed  logs  to  make 
a  small  fire.  In  a  few  minutes  I  had  a  tiny  flame 
started.  Then  I  closed  the  door,  chose  an  upper 
corner  where  a  chink  in  the  clay  already  showed, 
and  dug  out  a  chunk  or  two  of  the  filling  between 
the  logs  to  make  a  ventilator.  I  had  the  satisfac- 
tion, too,  of  seeing  the  rising  smoke  mostly  sweep 
over  to  and  out  of  my  improvised  chimney.  Then 
I  turned  again  to  Hal. 

He  had  seemed  very  pale  when  he  had  lain  star- 
ing up  at  me  at  the  time  of  his  waking,  but  now, 
as  I  looked  at  him,  it  seemed  that  his  color  had 
come  back.  Indeed,  in  the  firelight  his  cheeks  ap- 
peared to  be  flushed,  and,  full  of  anxiety  as  I  was, 
I  feared  this  indication  also.  There  was  little  else 
that  I  could  do,  however,  now  that  a  fire  was  built. 
I  picked  the  light  little  body  and  its  coverings  up 
again,  however,  and  laid  it  on  the  straw  cot  with  the 
blanket  underneath  for  better  protection.  I  thought 
the  boy's  forehead  felt  hot  to  the  touch,  but  I  could 
not  be  sure,  for  my  hands  were  cold.  I  hung  over 
the  sleeping  lad  as  if  he  were  a  baby,  I  confess. 

Time  went  slowly  then,  while  I  stood  about  hop- 
ing that  the  rain  would  pass.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  cessation  in  the  storm,  however.  There  was  less 
incessant  lightning  and  thunder,  but  the  heavens 
were  indeed  loosed  of  their  waters,  for  the  down- 
pour was  the  heaviest  I  have  ever  known.  Our 
shack  was  amazingly  tight  and  its  situation  on  the 


242  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

crown  of  a  knoll  was  the  only  thing  that  kept  us 
from  being  drowned  out.  As  it  was,  the  water  ran 
down  the  logs  on  the  side  toward  the  wind,  for  there 
were  cracks  enough  in  the  side-walls  to  admit  it. 
There  were  two  places  where  considerable  drip  came 
through  the  roof,  too;  one  near  the  door  and  the 
other  in  the  corner  at  the  same  end,  but  opposite.  At 
the  cot  end,  where  I  had  made  my  fire  and  laid  my 
slumbering  friend,  we  were  reasonably  dry,  though 
I  felt  the  chill  of  the  sucking  drafts. 

I  stamped  about  some  for  warmth,  for  I  was  not 
heavily  clad.  My  earlier  exertions,  too,  had  started 
a  perspiration  that  had  dampened  my  inner  cloth- 
ing, and  the  rain  had  wet  me  outside.  In  truth  I 
was  rather  wretchedly  uncomfortable  and  I  boomed 
our  small  fire  up  as  high  as  I  could  with  the  poor 
fuel  available. 

Meantime,  my  mind  went  over  the  features  of  our 
predicament.  A  whole  countryside  was  doubtless 
by  now  on  the  lookout  for  us;  and  here  we  were 
hiding  out  in  an  actual  haunt  of  our  arch-enemy,  al- 
most in  reach  of  his  hand,  with  only  the  storm  as 
a  reasonably  sure  present  guarantee  of  temporary 
safety.  Such  a  situation  was  scarcely  of  the  sort 
to  be  chosen  or  anticipated  as  a  result  of  accident, 
but  for  that  very  reason  it  had  its  advantages.  No 
one  would  look  for  us  here,  and  only  the  chance  of 
Bain  or  some  of  the  men  coming  up  here  soon  after 
the  rain,  would  jeopardize  us.  The  fact  that  my 
clothing  had  remained  undisturbed  on  the  straw  just 


Match-Light  243 

as  I  had  left  it  was  some  evidence  that  no  one  had 
been  here  since  the  violent  scene  in  which  I  had 
participated. 

That  thought  caused  me  suddenly  to  remember 
my  little  weapon  that  had  stood  me  in  such  good 
stead  on  that  occasion,  and  I  looked  for  it  at  once. 
I  found  it — still  unbroken — a  simple  little  tube  of 
paper  lying  half  lost  down  beside  the  logs  near  the 
door.  And  I  discovered  the  empty  pepper-shaker, 
too,  among  the  straw? 

My  watch  informed  me  that  it  was  after  noon 
now.  It  seemed  an  age,  indeed,  since  this  day's 
work  had  begun.  But  the  rain  was  flooding  the 
world  outside  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 
I  wished  that  an  extra  blanket  were  available,  for 
it  was  growing  cold  and  raw  and  my  poor  little 
fire  was  not  of  much  avail  against  the  wet  and  driv- 
ing wind.  It  was  mainly  useful  as  a  light  giver, 
though  I  could  not  say  much  for  the  cheer  it  fur- 
nished as  the  material  to  feed  it  began  to  run  short. 
I  pried  off  all  the  bark  that  clung  to  the  old  logs, 
but  much  of  it  would  not  burn  well  on  so  small  a 
blaze  and  the  chips  about  were  not  many.  I  burned 
handfuls  of  straw  for  a  time,  but  they  made  only 
fitful  flares  and  much  smoke.  I  was  of  the  opinion 
that  the  straw  was  more  useful  as  a  part  of  the  bed. 

I  looked  at  Hal  frequently,  but  his  eyes  were  al- 
ways closed  and  his  respiration  soft.  He  made  no 
sound  in  his  sleep.  The  storm  did  not  seem  to  dis- 
turb him  a  second  time.  He  was  perfectly  still  so 


244  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

far  as  I  noticed.  If  he  moved  at  all  it  was  while  I 
was  not  closely  attending,  and  I  wondered  at  the 
lasting  power  of  the  sedative.  I  ceased  to  worry 
about  him  as  the  flush  appeared  to  have  subsided  in 
his  face,  and  I  decided  that  the  effect  had  been  due 
to  the  ruddy  firelight.  I  touched  his  delicate  tem- 
ples with  my  fingers  and  thought  of  the  strange 
contrast  between  his  fragility  and  my  crude 
strength.  And  then  I  remembered  that  it  was  less 
than  a  week  since  the  thread  of  my  life  had  crossed 
his,  with  which  it  was  now  curiously — irretrievably 
— knotted.  And  in  the  train  of  this  followed  the 
long  review  of  all  that  had  come  to  pass  with  the 
puzzling  mysteries  upon  it  and  the  crisis  in  which 
we  were  involved  standing  here  like  a  mighty  snarl 
to  which  I  could  not  see  the  unraveling. 

But  the  cold  grew  as  the  storm  boomed  on,  and 
there  came  a  time  when  I  felt  that  it  was  needless 
for  me  to  stand  about  and  freeze  while  two  of  us 
might  wrap  up  together  in  our  covers  to  the  advan- 
tage of  both.  For  two  in  a  blanket  are  better  than 
one,  when  its  thickness  and  not  its  size  is  meager. 
I  looked  at  Hal  and  concluded  I  should  do  him  no 
injustice  if  I  took  him  in  my  arms,  overcoats  and 
all,  and  burrowed  for  both  of  us  into  the  outer 
blankets.  So  it  was  quickly,  if  not  dexterously, 
done;  and  was  none  the  less  comforting,  if  awk- 
ward. After  two  minutes'  fumbling  I  had  his  head 
lying— still  protected  by  its  red  and  white  skating- 
cap — snug  on  my  shoulder,  and  I  drew  the  covers  in 


Match-Light  245 

around  us  both  hugely  to  the  improvement  of  my 
own  situation  and  not  a  little,  I  believed,  to  Hal's. 
And  then  I  settled  back  against  the  logs  to  wait  it 
out,  while  the  storm  raged  impotently  at  us  and  my 
fire  dwindled  to  unsubstantial  coals  and  faded  into 
the  general  gloom. 

The  dull  light,  the  grateful  warmth,  the  steady 
pounding  of  the  rain — of  them  nature  made  a  pow- 
erful soporific  for  me.  I  went  to  sleep.  Quite  un- 
intentionally— of  course — I  went  to  sleep,  and  slept 
long  and  soundly.  And  I  woke  to  quiet  and  peace 
and  darkness  and  the  drip  of  an  ended  storm,  but 
with  the  light  pressure  of  the  slender  warm  body 
of  my  friend  upon  me  and  the  sense  of  safety  still 
with  us  to  quiet  the  first  instinctive  start.  There 
was  the  smell  of  old  smoke  in  the  air,  with  occa- 
sional breaths  of  fresh  currents  about  us.  The  cold 
was  considerable  and  I  pulled  the  big  blankets  closer 
in  about  us  at  once.  Then  I  listened  for  a  time  to 
the  sounds  that  were  audible.  Somewhere,  not  far 
away,  some  freshet  from  the  hills  was  making  a 
splashing  that  intruded  itself  as  the  first  noise  that 
was  clearly  distinguishable.  Aside  from  that  there 
was  little  besides  the  nearby  drip  of  trees  and  bushes. 
My  fire  had  evidently  gone  completely  out  a  long 
time  before. 

I  put  my  hand  up  to  the  face  of  my  companion. 
It  was  cool.  But  my  touch  did  not  disturb  the 
sleeper  apparently  and  I  wondered  again.  How  late 
it  might  be  I  did  not  know,  but  it  was  all  of  ten 


246  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

hours  now  since  the  sleeping-mixture  had  been 
given.  Its  effects  must  wear  off  soon.  If  not,  was 
it  safe  to  allow  the  sleep  to  continue?  I  felt  that 
perhaps  it  was  reprehensible  in  me  to  have  allowed 
myself  to  fall  asleep  when  harm  might  have  come 
of  the  long  delay.  But  the  soft  breathing  was 
against  my  neck  and  I  found  the  pulse  still  calm. 
I  could  not  bear  to  disturb  such  slumber,  for  what 
had  I  to  offer  in  exchange  for  the  peace  it  held? 
A  cold  dark  night  in  a  lonely  place  where  danger 
was  only  suspended — possibly  now  a  nearer  threat 
than  I  believed — and  a  long  wait  for  day  or  a  blind 
search  in  the  wet  woods  for  a  way  by  which  to 
continue  our  wild  flight.  I  waited. 

But  presently  the  sense  that  this  silent  sleep  could 
hardly  longer  be  wholesome  for  my  charge  moved 
me  to  rouse  him.  It  would  be  better  to  stir  the 
unconscious  brain  now  to  a  waking  knowledge  of 
our  whereabouts,  for  I  felt  certain  as  I  remembered 
their  gaze  that  the  eyes  into  which  I  had  looked  by 
the  light  of  the  lightning  and  my  burning  match  had 
had  no  understanding  in  them. 

I  moved  and  sat  up,  holding  the  covers  close 
about  us. 

"Hal!"  I  whispered. 

There  was  no  reply. 

"Hal!"  I  repeated  aloud. 

The  small  frame  stirred  and  I  felt  the  fingers  of 
the  hand  I  held  grip  mine. 

"  Hal,  are  you  awake  ?    This  is  Randall.    We're 


Match-Light  247 

safe  together  in  the  hills.  Don't  be  frightened. 
We  are " 

But  I  did  not  finish.  I  felt  a  quick  stir  and  start 
and  the  relaxed  form  in  my  arms  grew  abruptly 
tense.  Then,  suddenly  a  gasping  breath  and  a  whis- 
per while  the  fingers  held  mine  tightly  again. 

"Where  am  I?" 

"  Safe,  old  man,"  I  answered. 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  foothills  back  of  Cold  Spring  Farm." 

"  And  you  ?  "  The  whisper  had  grown  strained. 
Suddenly  it  became  softer.  "  And  you — are  Dan 
Randall?" 

Something  stirred  in  me  strangely — something 
that  was  like  a  welling  of  unexplained  emotion. 
The  whispers  in  the  black  darkness  of  the  room  took 
on  a  sound  that  startled  me  like  the  waking  from 
dreams  to  real.  I  did  not  know  what  was  the  influ- 
ence upon  me,  but  my  heart  began  to  beat  with  a 
wild  leaping  that  sought  my  very  breath.  I  bent  for- 
ward and  released  myself  from  the  blanket.  Then 
I  struggled  up  and  got  upon  my  feet,  fumbling  for 
my  matches.  In  an  instant  I  found  one  and  struck  it 
upon  the  rough  bound  edge  of  a  rubber  blanket,  dry 
now  to  the  touch.  Next  moment  I  held  up  the 
flaming  thing  and  bent  down  to  look  into  the  face 
beneath  my  own. 

The  dark  eyes  were  wide  and  wondering,  startled 
but  not  terrified.  The  delicate  lips  were  parted  and 
tremulous  though  not  with  fear.  But  the  cap  had 


248  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

been  pushed  back,  the  fair  forehead  showed  white 
and  smooth,  and  tendrils  of  soft,  dark  hair  clustered 
about  it.  And  revelation  came  to  me  as  I  looked, 
like  the  flooding  of  my  match-light  upon  the  dark- 
ness, and  my  blood  took  fire  as  inflammable  stuff 
and  burned  to  my  very  heart.  For  the  countenance 
I  looked  upon  was  not  that  of  the  boy — the  sick  un- 
fortunate fellow-fugitive  I  had  dreamed  I  was 
guarding  and  saving.  It  was,  in  all  the  glorious 
charm  of  rising  blush,  in  the  wonderful  sweetness 
of  girlish  modesty  surprised,  in  the  loveliness  of 
its  own  pure  exquisite  beauty,  the  face  of  Donna 
Philbric. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  REACH  OF  THE  LAW 

THE  flickering  match  revealed  us  to  each  other. 
She  did  not  move ;  she  seemed  not  to  breathe ; 
while  I — what  can  I  say  that  will  convey  a  little  of 
the  feelings  that  held  me  spellbound  ?  And  the  flame 
in  my  fingers  burned  slowly  up  to  its  full  flare; 
then,  as  I  turned  it,  waned  gradually,  sank  and 
went  out. 

"Donna!"  I  whispered,  as  the  darkness  again 
enclosed  us. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Donna,"  I  said  again.    "  I  didn't  dream  of  it." 

Still  she  did  not  speak.  I  could  not  bear  it.  My 
mind  was  a  whirling  tumult  now.  I  dared  not  trust 
myself  to  try  again  to  say  the  reassuring  thing. 
Then  I  caught  a  handful  of  the  straw,  dropped  it 
where  our  fire  had  been  and  touched  another  flame 
to  it.  The  last  of  my  gathered  fuel  lay  untouched 
and  I  piled  it  carefully  about  the  blaze,  while  I  felt 
my  heart  beat  in  my  very  finger-ends.  What  had  I 
done? 

I  turned  to  look  at  her  again,  at  last,  and  found 
her  gaze  upon  me  with  searching  question  in  it.  As 

249 


250  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

my  eyes  looked  into  hers,  however,  her  head 
drooped  slowly  till  her  hands  came  suddenly  up  to 
cover  her  face. 

"  How  could  I  have  done  it?"  I  asked,  coming 
and  dropping  upon  one  knee  beside  her.  "  Donna, 
you  took  Hal's  place  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  He  went  away,  dressed  in  clothes  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"Where?" 

"  Bob  took  him  to  a  sanitarium  in  the  North." 

"He's  safe,  then?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  was  afraid  Aunt  Charlotte  and  the  servants 
would  know.  I  didn't  dare  trust  any  one — and  you 
were  gone." 

"  I  went  only  for  a  brief  errand." 

"  I  know." 

"  I  meant  to  take  Hal  safely  into  the  hills.  When 
the  officers  came " 

I  paused.  The  rush  of  memories  in  the  light  of 
this  thing  was  confusing.  She  took  her  hands  from 
her  face  but  did  not  look  up. 

"  You  came  back  for  Hal." 

'  Yes.  I  found  you  asleep.  Aunt  Charlotte  told 
me  she  had  given  you — Hal — the  sleeping-mixture. 
You  have  slept  ten  hours." 

She  was  silent  again. 

"How  can  you  forgive  me?"  I  asked,  for  the 


The  Reach  of  the  Law  251 

thought  of  enormous  offense  only  was  insistent  in 
my  mind. 

"  Forgive  you  ?  " 

"  I  meant  to  help  Hal,  you  see." 

"  You've  proved  that." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  involve  you  so." 

"  Involve  me?  I  involved  myself.  But  I  did  not 
know  Aunt  Charlotte's  medicine  was  the  sleeping 
potion.  Ten  hours,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes.    It  seems  remarkable." 

"  I  have  slept  poorly — little,  indeed,  for  a  night  or 
two." 

"And  now?" 

"  I  am  not  harmed  by  it."  She  looked  up  at 
me  now.  "  Where  are  we  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  reckon  about  seventy  miles  from  home.  We 
are  in  a  small  hut  which  I — which  I  saw  when  I  was 
here  on  Conrad's  farm.  It  is  just  at  the  foot  of  the 
big  hills  behind  Cold  Spring.  There's  a  stream 
between  us  and  the  farm  proper  and  we're  in  a 
thicket  of  woods.  I  brought  you  in  the  blue  car. 
It's  outside."  I  stopped.  I  had  told  her  some  of 
these  things  before.  "  Didn't  you  hear  me  tell  you 
when  you  first  waked  in  the  storm?  " 

"  The  storm?  "    She  looked  at  me  as  if  mystified. 

"  Yes.  We  have  had  a  severe  storm.  It  com- 
menced about  noon  or  earlier  and  has  only  now 
stopped,  I  think.  I've  been  asleep  myself." 

I  could  not  look  into  her  eyes  then.  The  thought 
of  that  sleep  made  the  heat  mount  into  my  brain. 


252  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

I  got  upon  my  feet  again  and  stood  by  the  fire  be- 
fore her. 

"  I  dreamed,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  dreamed  of 
the  storm.  I  saw  lightning  and  rain,  and  then  I 
saw  you.  You  burned  matches  and  told  me  not  to 
be  afraid." 

"  I  supposed  you  were  Hal,"  said  I  helplessly. 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  I  meant  to  deceive— every- 
body." 

She  smiled  faintly  now,  but  the  blush  came  again 
to  her  face.  She  looked  at  the  blankets  and  the 
rubber  coverings.  The  course  of  her  thoughts  now 
seemed  plain.  A  wild  rush  of  words  came  to  my 
lips  and  in  choking  them  back  I  became  dumb.  She 
looked  up  once  more. 

"  Dan  Randall,"  she  said,  "  you  have  laid  your- 
self liable  to  the  law,  have  you  not?  " 

"  We  are  both  fugitives — or  were." 

st  You  are  a  good  friend." 

I  smiled.  What  a  meaningless  phrase  was  that! 
But  I  could  not  speak  its  better.  I  had  no  right, 
here  and  now. 

She  put  aside  the  blankets  and  stood  up.  She 
was  dressed  in  her  brother's  clothing,  but  a  long 
overcoat  covered  her  from  shoulders  to  heel.  As  she 
stood  erect,  the  light  struck  up  upon  her  sweet  face 
and  shone  in  her  hair,  and  my  brain  was  fairly  faint 
with  the  very  sense  of  the  nearness  and  intimacy 
of  our  relation.  She  turned  to  me  and  smiled. 

"  Shall  we  go  home  now?  "  she  asked. 


The  Reach  of  the  Law  253 

The  thought  had  not  come  to  me.  Half  stupe- 
fied by  the  fact  of  her  presence  here  I  had  contem- 
plated only  that.  I  took  the  word  from  her  almost 
as  a  rebuke  upon  my  utterly  selfish  and  inconsid- 
erate stupidity. 

;<  Yes,"  I  said,  "  we  should,  I  suppose,  as  soon  as 
may  be." 

I  looked  at  my  watch  now.  It  was  six  o'clock 
and  ten  minutes. 

"  The  car  is  outside.  I  covered  it  with  the  tar- 
paulin." 

I  started  toward  the  door. 

"  Did  you  tell  me  that  before,  also  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  remember.  It  wasn't  a  dream  then.  And 
you  carried  me — in  your  arms  ?  " 

'  Yes,"  I  answered  softly.    "  I  carried  you." 

I  opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  The  woods 
were  dark  and  wet.  The  sound  of  the  rushing 
freshet  was  plainer  now.  The  water  must  be  high. 
A  sudden  recollection  of  the  bridge  we  had  crossed 
before  we  reached  the  woods  came  to  me  with  quick 
apprehension  as  to  its  condition.  I  stepped  out  and 
looked  around.  All  was  dark  and  still  in  the  imme- 
diate region. 

I  went  out  through  the  path.  I  could  just  dis- 
tinguish the  opening  through  the  trees  as  a  darker 
space  than  the  rest.  The  girl  followed.  I  put  my 
hand  back  to  her  and  she  took  it.  By  common  con- 
sent we  were  silent,  though  she  could  have  no  knowl- 


254  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

edge  that  we  might  run  risks  by  talking.  We 
rounded  the  thicket  and  made  our  way  through  the 
trees  in  as  nearly  the  direction  of  the  car  as  I  could 
remember ;  and  we  found  it  presently,  standing  big 
and  dark  and  still. 

The  tarpaulin  was  loaded  with  water  where  it 
sank  in  great  hollows  between  the  seats,  but  it  had 
clung  in  place,  and,  as  I  dragged  it  off,  splashing  its 
contents  on  the  sodden  leaves,  I  found  the  leathern 
cushions  dry. 

"  We  played  in  luck  here,"  I  whispered  to  Donna, 
coming  close  to  her  where  she  stood  waiting.  "  The 
car  is  dry." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  briefly. 

"  Get  in,"  I  said.  "  I'll  bring  the  things  and  then 
I'll  pilot  the  way  out." 

I  went  back  to  the  cabin,  groping  my  way.  So 
agitated  was  I  now  that  my  hands  trembled — and 
I  am  not  much  given  to  that  sign  of  weakness.  I 
felt  months  and  years  older  than  yesterday,  for  the 
emotion  of  the  hours  seemed  to  have  added  an  im- 
measurable span  to  my  life.  I  stopped  in  the  door 
of  the  hut  and  leaned  against  the  upright  post,  with 
my  brain  dizzied  and  my  heart  throbbing  with  heavy 
labor.  Why  had  this  come?  Why  had  this  come 
to  me?  Why  should  it  be  that  I  should  have  and 
hold  and  feel  the  wild  thrill  of  possession  of  the 
sweetness  that  could  not  be  mine?  Oh  God!  She 
was  not  mine!  I  knew;  she  belonged  to  another 
man,  and  I — I  who  loved  her  better  than  my  life — 


The  Reach  of  the  Law  255 

I  must  guard  her — from  the  very  knowledge  of  that 
love. 

I  almost  staggered  under  the  trivial  burden  of  the 
blankets  as  I  went  back  to  the  car.  I  knew  I  was 
not  quite  myself  now — not  quite  possessed  of  full 
command  over  my  faculties.  The  great  passion  had 
burned  me  till  I  felt  almost  as  if  I  had  received  a 
sickening  hurt.  But  I  kept  my  rebel  tongue  in 
leash. 

I  found  the  girl  in  the  car.  She  had  taken  the 
seat  at  the  wheel. 

"  I  know  the  country,"  she  said  simply,  as  I  came 
up  and  tossed  my  load  into  the  tonneau.  I  did  not 
answer,  but  went  to  the  crank  and  started  the  en- 
gine. It  took  the  spark  with  a  soft  whir  of  easy 
action.  Then  I  went  forward  a  little  way,  barely 
able  to  make  out  my  path  among  the  trees.  How 
we  were  to  get  out  I  did  not  see. 

I  bethought  me  then,  however,  of  a  probable  bun- 
dle of  oil-soaked  waste  in  the  tool  box  and  I  found 
it  for  the  looking.  Presently  I  improvised  a  torch 
by  tying  the  stuff  to  a  wet  stick.  Lighting  it,  I  sent 
a  glare  far  and  near  among  the  trees,  and  by  its 
flame,  Donna  turned  the  big  machine  and  guided  it 
back  to  the  cart-track.  There  I  lighted  the  lamps 
and  stamped  out  my  flaming  torch  in  the  mud  of 
the  ditch.  And  in  five  minutes  we  were  off  down 
the  slope  toward  the  bridge. 

I  had  taken  the  seat  beside  the  girl.  I  anticipated 
possible  danger  and  trouble  at  the  bridge,  but  I  did 


256  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

not  speak  of  it,  for  she  ran  the  car  slowly  at  the 
start.  The  instant  the  great  lights  of  our  machine 
swept  down  upon  the  gully,  however,  I  knew  that 
difficulty  lay  ahead.  The  whole  great  cut  in  the  hill- 
side, where  had  been  a  considerable  but  not  danger- 
ous stream  that  morning,  was  now  full  to  the  brim 
with  a  foaming  brown  flood  that  was  tumbling  a 
foot  deep  over  the  floor  of  the  bridge,  a  part  of 
the  rail  of  which  had  been  torn  away. 

Donna  stopped  the  car. 

"  That's  bad,"  she  said,  "  but  not  unexpected." 

"  Did  you  anticipate  it,  too  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said.  "  I've  seen  it  worse.  I 
wouldn't  dare  to  run  the  car  out  upon  that  bridge 
now." 

"  No,"  said  I.    "  Is  there  any  other  way  out?  " 

"  There's  the  river  bank  itself,"  she  answered. 

She  nodded  to  the  right.  On  the  high  bank  there 
was  a  level  stretch  along  which  it  was  possible  a 
car  might  run,  but  which  was  marked  by  no  track.  I 
glanced  it  over  but  could  not  follow  it  far  in  the 
gloom,  though  it  was  lighter  here  than  in  the  woods. 
As  I  looked,  however,  the  girl  suddenly  caught  my 
arm. 

"  Some  one  is  looking  at  us,"  she  whispered. 

"Where?" 

"  Over  across.    See,  by  the  sumac  bushes !  " 

I  looked  closely.  I  could  make  out  the  figure  of 
a  man.  He  was  standing  quite  still,  but  when  once 
seen  he  was  easily  distinguished.  The  glare  of  our 


The  Reach  of  the  Law  257 

lamps  painted  his  face  white  against  the  under- 
brush. 

"Hello!  "I  called. 

"  Hello !  "  he  answered  readily  and  came  forward 
to  the  bridge.  He  carried  something  in  his  hand 
and  I  started  as  I  saw  what  I  instantly  thought 
might  be  a  gun. 

"  How's  the  bridge  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  See  for  yourself,"  he  replied. 

"Unsafe?" 

"  I  should  think  so,  for  a  car  like  yours." 

"  Where  can  we  cross  ?  " 

"  You  can't  cross." 

"  No  bridge  near?  " 

"  There's  a  bridge  a  mile  downstream,"  whis- 
pered Donna.  "  I  can  drive  that  far  by  the  river- 
side." 

"  I  guess  you'll  stay  where  you  are,"  called  the 
man. 

"  Not  if  we  can  help  it,  we  won't,"  I  answered. 
His  voice  had  an  unpleasant  tone  in  it. 

"  Well,  you  can't  cross  here  and  I  ain't  going  to 
let  you  go  anywhere  else,"  he  announced  abruptly. 

"  You're  not !  "  I  cried.    "  Why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because  that's  young  Philbric  you've  got  there 
in  that  red-and-white  cap.  And  you're  wanted,  you 
are." 

I  was  not  utterly  surprised.  I  had  felt  the  threat 
in  the  attitude  of  the  fellow.  Moreover,  the  thing 
acted  like  a  tonic  to  me.  The  thought  of  a  chance 


258  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

to  stand  up  and  fight  was  like  a  joy  to  me  in  my 
mood.  I  replied  to  him  promptly. 

"  You're  mistaken,"  I  said. 

"  I  am  not,"  he  said,  "  and  what's  more,  if  you 
try  any  bluff  with  me  you'll  get  deeper  into  trouble 
than  you  are.  I  can  shoot." 

I  felt  Donna's  hand  against  mine.  "  Shall  we 
chance  it  ?  "  she  whispered.  "  I — I  can't  afford  to 
be  caught  masquerading." 

"  Wait,"  I  said. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
OBSTACLE  RACE  FOR  TWO 

T  CLIMBED  down  out  of  the  car  and  went  to  the 
•*•  head  of  the  bridge.  "  Who  are  you?"  I  asked. 

"  I'm  a  deputy  sheriff — that's  who  I  am,"  he 
growled  back  at  me. 

"  Well,  you're  after  the  wrong  people,"  I  told 
him. 

"  I  know  who  I'm  after,"  he  said. 

"  Will  you  come  across  here  and  see  who  we 
are?  "  I  asked. 

He  hesitated.  Then,  "  You  want  me  to  wade 
through  that  water  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  can  walk  the  rail,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  I  won't  walk  no  rail." 

"  I'll  come  over  and  carry  you  across  if  you'll 
hold  up  that  shooting-iron,"  I  said. 

He  laughed.  "  Fine  job  you'd  have,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  I  can  easily  do  it,"  I  answered,  "  and  I'd  rattier 
have  wet  legs  than  to  stay  here  all  night." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  he  seemed  to  waver  in 
some  uncertainty. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  you're  mistaken  about  young 
Philbric.  You're  not  the  only  man  that's  asked 

259 


260  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

us  about  him,  either.  But  you  can  see  that  I'm  not 
Philbric  and  the  person  in  the  car  is  a  lady." 

"  Don't  lie  to  me,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  not  lying,"  said  I.  I  turned  to  Donna. 
"  He  thinks  we  are  trying  to  bluff  him,  Miss  Char- 
lotte," I  called,  using  the  first  name  that  came  to 
me.  "  He  thinks  we  are  runaway  crooks  or  some- 
thing. Won't  you  call  out  to  him  to  prove  that 
you  are  not  Harold  Philbric?  " 

The  girl  laughed  shortly.  "  I  am  not  Harold 
Philbric,"  she  called. 

The  fellow  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
spoke  again.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  may  have  him 
in  that  car.  That  was  how  he  was  carried  off." 

"  Was  it?  "  I  asked.  "  Well,  he  isn't  in  this  car 
and  he  wasn't  carried  away  in  it.  This  car  belongs 
to  this  lady." 

"  Well,  I  can't  take  nobody's  word,"  he  objected. 

"  Come  across  and  see,"  I  answered.  "  You  can't 
expect  to  keep  people  held  up  like  this  on  no  better 
suspicion  than  a  red  cap." 

"  No,"  he  admitted.  Then,  "  Well,  you  come  on 
over  here  and  I'll  walk  that  rail  with  a  hand  from 
you." 

The  proposal  was  so  surprising  that  I  nearly 
laughed  aloud.  I  instantly  hoped  that  he  meant 
what  he  said,  but  I  could  hardly  credit  it.  Still,  if  I 
was  to  act,  I  must  act  immediately  so  as  not  to  rouse 
his  very  ready  suspicion. 

I  stepped  down  the  steep  bank  and  put  a  foot 


Obstacle  Race  for  Two  261 

readily  into  the  water.  Feeling  my  way  then,  I 
went  slowly  out  upon  the  overflowed  bridge  with 
a  hand  upon  the  solid  rail  and  groping  carefully  for 
footing.  It  was  a  dangerous  thing  to  do,  but  in  the 
excitement  of  the  time  I  did  not  care.  I  made 
steady  progress.  The  water  pulled  at  my  legs  and 
struck  cold  upon  my  flesh  through  my  clothing,  but 
I  hardly  noticed  it. 

As  I  neared  the  farther  side  I  held  out  my  free 
hand  to  him  where  he  stood  now  plainly  visible  in 
the  automobile's  lights. 

"  Come  on,"  I  cried. 

He  did  not  move.  He  simply  shook  his  head. 
"  You'll  have  to  help  me  all  the  way,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  not  a  tight-rope  performer." 

I  began  to  suspect  a  trick,  but  my  fighting  blood 
was  up  and  I  also  began  to  look  for  openings. 

"  All  right,"  I  answered,  and  stepped  up  on  the 
road  before  him. 

He  raised  his  gun.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  you're 
here — you  stay.  Don't  you  move  or  I'll  plug  you  full 
of  buckshot.  I'd  kill  you  just  as  willing  as  anybody 
I  ever  see."  Then  suddenly  raising  his  voice,  he 
uttered  a  wild  halloo. 

At  the  instant  I  recognized  him.  He  was  the  man 
to  whom  I  had  spoken  on  the  night  of  my  escapade 
at  Cold  Spring  Farm,  when  I  had  run  from  the  yard, 
after  the  blinding  of  Judson  Bain,  and  had  been 
minded  to  seek  information.  He  was  the  bushy- 
haired  chap  who  had  stood  in  the  porch  and  had 


262  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

told  me  so  readily  that  the  girl  Luella  West  fall 
had  been  taken  to  Hart,  the  village  at  the  foot  of 
"  Old  Drom."  And  he  knew  me,  with  certainty,  for 
as  he  ended  his  halloo,  which  was  obviously  a  call 
for  help,  he  began  to  laugh  in  my  face. 

"  You  must  think  we  are  all  fools  up  here  at 
Cold  Spring,"  he  said.  "  But  if  we  are,  you  ain't 
fast  enough  to  put  it  over  us  every  time.  I  reckon 
the  sight  of  you  will  be  good  for  Judson  Bain's 
sore  eyes." 

It  was  sudden,  but  not  wholly  unlocked  for.  I 
played  the  part  of  surprise,  however.  Then  I 
laughed. 

"  Well,"  I  answered  him,  "  you've  got  me, 
haven't  you?" 

I  kicked  my  water-laden  shoes,  and  looked  down 
at  them  with  a  feigning  of  bravado.  Then  I  stooped 
and  began  spatting  the  water  from  the  legs  of  my 
trousers.  The  road  was  full  of  the  light  from  the 
car.  The  man  stood  ten  feet  from  me,  and  he  low- 
ered his  weapon  even  as  I  bent  over.  I  believed 
that  the  lights  must  be  somewhat  in  his  eyes.  In 
an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a  second,  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  risk  a  fight.  I  managed  a  step  or  two  to- 
ward him,  therefore,  apparently  intent  on  my  water- 
soaked  shoes.  Then  suddenly  I  gathered  myself 
and  plunged  at  him  with  all  the  power  I  could  sum- 
mon from  old  football  days. 

His  gun  exploded  with  a  roar,  but  I  was  un- 
touched. Next  moment  I  caught  him  by  the  knees 


Obstacle  Race  for  Two  263 

and  upset  him  like  a  baby,  and  the  second  barrel  of 
his  piece  went  off  in  the  air.  I  lifted  him  and 
turned  to  the  river.  I  had  a  mind  to  throw  him 
into  the  flood,  but  the  instant  realization  that  it 
would  mean  almost  sure  death  to  him  stopped  me. 
I  strode  to  the  bridge  instead.  He  had  tried  to  kill 
me,  but  I  would  stop  short  of  death  for  him  now. 
I  dropped  him,  however,  into  the  midst  of  the  swirl- 
ing water  on  the  bridge  floor  and  shook  loose  from 
his  clutching  fingers.  Then  I  caught  his  heels  and 
dragged  him  as  I  strode  out  and  back  to  the  farther 
shore,  his  struggling,  twisted  body  half  submerged, 
his  head  now  above,  now  under,  while  he  yelled, 
then  strangled,  then  coughed,  and  strangled  again, 
and  finally  choked  to  silence. 

I  lifted  him  then  and  ran  with  him  across  to  the 
opposite  bank.  There  I  dropped  him  on  the  wet  sod, 
face  down.  I  listened  an  instant,  heard  him  give 
a  bubbly  gasp,  sure  sign  of  life,  and  then  I  fled 
to  the  car. 

"  Now  drive,  lady,"  I  cried.  "  Go  where  you 
can  best,  before  his  friends  come  to  his  call." 

I  jumped  into  the  tonneau.  I  was  too  wet  now 
to  sit  by  her  side. 

"  You're  not  hurt?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

"  I'll  take  the  river  course  then,"  she  cried. 
"  We'll  fool  them." 

Courage  was  vibrant  in  her  tone,  and,  as  the  car 
started,  I  began  to  believe  that  this  game  that  had 


264  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

been  going  against  us  had  been  played  to  a  change 
of  luck.  I  reckoned  too  soon.  At  the  very  instant 
of  the  start,  I  heard  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  or  a 
heavy  revolver,  and  the  vicious  sting  in  my  left 
shoulder  told  me  I  was  hit. 

The  blow  was  not  hard  enough  to  drop  me.  It 
sent  stab-like  tinglings  in  all  directions  in  my  nerves, 
and,  for  a  moment,  seemed  to  have  paralyzed  my 
arm.  But  it  was  not  serious.  The  threat  contained 
in  that  much  accuracy,  however,  was  grave,  indeed. 
I  stood  up  and  clung  to  the  back  of  the  front  seat 
so  that  my  body  might  shield  the  girl,  and  we 
lurched  out  upon  the  soft  sod  with  a  spongy  sound 
under  our  wheels  but  with  sudden  speed  that  was 
comforting. 

A  second  elapsed,  then  another.  Then  came  a 
second  spiteful  crack,  and  I  winced  involuntarily  as 
a  ball  went  past  my  ear  so  closely  that  it  seemed  to 
burn.  Whoever  was  shooting  was  a  marksman. 
Was  it  the  part  of  a  fool  I  was  playing  to  run  and 
draw  such  fire?  I  had  no  assurance  that  it  would 
stop  if  we  did.  The  man  on  the  bank  had  excuse 
enough  to  shoot,  after  my  handling  of  his  partner 
— excuse  that  would  stand  inquiry  as  against  my 
word  now.  I  felt  quite  certain  that  the  next  bullet 
would  hit  me,  but  there  was  no  better  way  to  shield 
Donna,  and  our  one  hope  was  in  gaining  the  first 
turn  around  the  higher  bank  that  would  put  us  out 
of  range.  And  I  was  right.  The  next  bullet  did 
hit — it  caught  me  in  the  side  below  the  shoulder 


Obstacle  Race  for  Two  265 

blade  and  plowed  along  a  rib,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
I  could  feel  it  scour  the  bone.  But  it  did  not  give 
me  such  immediate,  exquisite  pain  as  the  first  had 
inflicted,  and  I  hung  on  and  continued  to  stand. 
Next  moment  we  turned  at  the  brow  of  the  bluff 
and  were  out  of  range. 

I  sat  down  among  the  blankets  in  the  big  rear 
seat.  Dizziness  swept  over  me  for  the  moment. 
Then  my  head  cleared,  and  I  felt  sure  I  should  not 
lose  my  grip  on  myself.  The  girl  was  bending  over 
the  wheel,  giving  the  car  more  speed  than  I  would 
have  dared  to  give  it.  But  she  kept  the  smooth 
stretch  on  the  bank  as  if  by  sure  instinct,  and  we 
fled  away  into  the  darkness  with  the  purr  of  the 
engine  mingling  with  the  roar  of  the  water  close 
at  hand. 

But  we  had  not  gone  far  before  she  slowed  the 
pace  and  turned  to  speak  to  me. 

"  The  lower  bridge  is  at  the  town  of  Vernon," 
she  said. 

"  Can  you  drive  so  far?  "  I  asked,  not  daring  to 
lean  toward  her  for  fear  of  increasing  the  bleeding 
of  my  worse  wound,  which  I  could  feel  now  in  my 
clothing. 

"  Yes.  But  they  will  be  on  the  watch  for  us 
there." 

"  Probably." 

"  We  couldn't  get  across,"  she  said.  "  And  even 
if  no  one  opposes  us,  the  bridge  itself  will  be  as  dan- 
gerous as  the  one  above  us." 


266  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Then  we'll  have  to  turn  elsewhere." 

"  I  believe "  she  began,  then  hesitated.  "  I 

believe,"  she  repeated,  "  that  I  know  how  to  beat 
them." 

She  started  the  car  again  before  I  could  reply 
and  ran  on  along  the  way  she  had  chosen.  We  came 
to  rising  ground  presently,  and  she  changed  the 
gear  and  climbed  the  small  hill,  up  and  away  from 
the  stream.  And  then,  suddenly,  she  turned  the  car 
and  it  started  with  a  jump,  and  in  a  second  I  heard 
a  snapping  crash,  and  I  was  conscious  of  flying 
splinters  of  wooden  rails  as  we  went  squarely 
through  a  field  fence.  But  I  had  no  time  to  con- 
sider that,  for  the  car  took  a  sagging  dip,  and  then 
a  sudden  climb,  and  I  saw  before  me  on  the  left 
the  shine  of  the  lights  on  the  wet  steel  parallels  of 
a  railroad  track. 

For  an  instant  I  had  the  fear  that  the  car  was 
out  of  her  control,  but  I  heard  her  reassuring  laugh, 
and  she  brought  the  machine  around  with  ease,  till 
our  head-lamps  cast  their  beam  straight  out  along 
the  rails. 

"I  did  it,  didn't  I?"  she  cried. 

"  You  surely  did  something,"  I  answered,  and  I 
forgot  the  sting  of  my  wounds  as  I  watched  what 
followed. 

"  Now  for  something  better,"  she  said  quietly, 
and  the  car  started  again  like  a  horse  under  touch 
of  the  spur.  And  suddenly  I  found  myself  leaning 
forward  in  the  tonneau,  grasping  the  cushions  in 


Obstacle  Race  for  Two  267 

front  of  me,  in  sheer  incredulity,  as  I  saw  before 
us  a  long  unguarded  railway  trestle,  stretching  away 
into  the  dark,  its  ties  black  and  dim,  its  rails  gleam- 
ing like  silver  under  our  lights.  And  I  held  my 
very  breath  while  that  girl,  the  very  embodiment  of 
all  that  was  feminine  and  gentle,  deliberately  drove 
her  machine  straight  out  along  those  ties  where  few 
men  of  my  acquaintance  would  have  dared  to  drive 
by  daylight. 

I  do  not  believe  ignorance  of  her  risk  played  any 
part  in  her  taking  it.  I  believe  she  knew  and  under- 
stood, and  I,  as  I  saw  the  chance  she  faced,  knew 
also  what  safe  return  to  her  home  without  discovery 
of  her  "  masquerade  "  meant  to  her.  But  whatever 
her  thought  of  the  risk,  take  it  she  did,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  I  was  gazing  over  the  side  of  the  car 
down  into  a  chasm,  fifty  feet  at  least  to  the  foam- 
whitened  torrent  below,  while  the  car  was  bumping 
over  the  ties  at  a  rate  that  jarred  me  nearly  off  the 
seat  and  made  me  anticipate  a  plunge  at  any  instant 
to  the  river's  bottom. 

But  Donna  was  wiser  than  I  knew.  The  gauge 
of  the  track  was  almost  exactly  that  of  the  motor's 
wheels  and  the  girl  kept  our  right  wheels  close  inside 
the  right-hand  rail.  Timber  guard-rails  ran  along 
inside  the  train-rails,  and  she  managed  to  slip  both 
forward  and  rear  wheels  on  the  right  side  of  the 
car  into  the  opening  between  the  steel  track  and  its 
wooden  parallel,  adding  infinitely  to  her  chances  of 
a  safe  crossing.  And  then  she  dared  advance  her 


268  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

spark  and  straightened  up  to  the  work  of  holding 
a  steady  wheel  as  if  her  nerves  were  of  steel. 

So  we  crossed.  She  did  not  look  down  at  the 
river  below,  or  at  the  spinning,  dizzying  procession 
of  ties  slipping  away  under  us.  She  looked  stead- 
fastly ahead  and  held  on,  because  safety  and  escape 
depended  upon  it.  My  own  spirit  rose  in  boundless 
admiration  of  her,  and  I  felt  little  else  then,  as  we 
sped  surely  if  roughly  on.  And  presently  we  were 
out  upon  the  solid  earth  of  an  embankment  again 
and  she  was  turning  into  a  muddy  road  at  a  crossing 
close  to  the  high  bank  and  settling  back  as  if  to 
smooth  running,  with  only  an  excited  little  laugh 
again  to  tell  the  story  of  the  strain. 

I  did  not  speak,  but  presently  she  turned. 

"  Were  you  scared  ?  "  she  asked,  and  laughed  as 
I  had  not  heard  her  laugh  before,  a  free,  joyous 
laugh  that  meant  high  hope  and  confidence  now. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.    "  But  I  should  not  be  again." 

"  Oho !  "  she  answered.  "  You  grow  readily  used 
to  danger." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I've  seen  you  do  it  now  and 
should  not  feel  fear  another  time." 

She  laughed  once  more  and  pushed  her  lever 
forward.  The  big  motor  hummed  and  we  began 
to  fly  through  the  splashing  pools  and  spattering 
mud.  I  leaned  back  and  remembered  my  hurts,  but 
cared  little  for  them  then.  And  I  sat  with  silent 
lips  while  the  pain  of  a  deeper  wound  gripped  my 
heart. 


Obstacle  Race  for  Two  269 

It  was  a  long  ride,  but  we  made  it  in  less  time 
than  it  had  taken  us  that  morning  under  my  driv- 
ing. I  remembered  what  King  had  said  of  the  girl 
on  the  morning  of  my  first  ride  toward  The  Hazels. 
"  She  drives  like  the  wind  when  she  wants  to 
hurry,"  had  been  his  comment.  And  she  drove  like 
the  wind  now  through  darkness  that  would  have 
made  me  cautious,  but  with  seemingly  perfect  fa- 
miliarity with  every  level  stretch  and  curve.  And 
we  came  out  suddenly  from  a  dark  lane  upon  a 
familiar  patch  of  road  at  last,  and  almost  as  quickly 
as  I  recognized  it,  we  turned  in  at  the  big  gate  of 
the  home-grounds  and  swept  up  to  the  house  and 
stopped. 

Late  as  it  was  the  house  was  alight,  and  servants 
came  running  at  the  sound  of  our  arrival.  I  climbed 
out  upon  the  gravel  with  some  difficulty,  for  pain 
was  growing  in  my  hurts  now  and  the  sick  feeling 
spread  through  me  at  renewal  of  activity.  I  reached 
to  help  the  girl  to  alight,  and  managed  it.  Then 
we  walked  in  through  the  long  veranda,  while  John 
and  his  aids  came  out  to  us.  And  in  a  moment  more 
we  were  in  the  wide  hall  with  Aunt  Charlotte,  Doc- 
tor Graham,  and  King  himself,  hurrying  to  greet  us. 

"  Hal?  "  cried  Donna,  first  of  all  questions. 

"  He  is  safe,"  answered  King  promptly,  and  came 
forward. 

Both  he  and  Graham  looked  strangely  at  me,  but 
before  we  spoke  a  cry  from  Aunt  Charlotte  ar- 
rested us  all. 


270  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Donna !  Child,  what  has  happened  ?  You  are 
hurt!" 

I  turned  with  fear  leaping  up  in  me.  Had  she, 
in  her  fine  courage,  hidden  a  wound  too?  She 
turned  to  the  light  and  suddenly  I  saw  upon  the 
white  collar  and  shirt  front  she  wore,  and  on  the 
collar  of  the  coat,  the  scarlet  stains  of  blood. 

"  Dear  girl !  "  I  cried,  catching  her  arm,  "  did  that 
devil  hit  you  ?  Are  you  wounded  ?  " 

She  looked  up  wonderingly.  Then  she  smiled. 
"  If  I  am,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  know  it.  I  have 
not  felt  it." 

Her  aunt  seized  her  and  drew  her  toward  the 
library.  The  doctor  followed  quickly  and  servants 
clustered  after  them.  Only  King  and  I  stood  still, 
for  he  was  facing  me  with  ugly  light  in  his  eyes 
that  I  could  not  choose  but  regard. 

"  So,"  he  said,  when  we  stood  alone,  "  you  have 
come  back." 

I  regarded  him  coldly.  A  brute  anger  stirred  in 
me  at  the  man  who  would  judge  without  the  facts. 
"  We  have  come  back,"  I  answered  simply. 

He  glared  at  me.  "  You're  either  one  thing  or 
the  other,"  he  began  again,  with  evident  effort  to 
control  a  more  dangerous  impulse  than  to  speak. 
"  Tell  me — which  are  you,  a  knave  or  a  fool  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
LOVE  OUT  OF  LEASH 

'  I  VHE  light  in  the  hallway  shone  across  his  face. 

•*•      I  remember  how  the  muscles  of  the  jaw  stood 

out.    I  looked  him  in  the  eyes  and  grew  calm  as  I 

saw  the  madness  of  his  rage  and  realized  his  cause. 

"  King,"  said  I  quietly,  "  I  am  not  the  knave  you 
choose  to  think.  Neither  am  I  exactly  the  fool  you 
might  wish  to  believe.  Take  time  to  learn  truth 
before  you  judge,  and  when  you  have,  I'll  talk  to 
you." 

I  passed  him.  At  the  library  door  I  paused  and 
looked  in.  I  heard  Donna  laugh  and  knew  that  she 
was  not  hurt.  Then  I  went  on  and  slowly  up  the 
stairs.  My  wounds  were  cold  and  stiff  and  paining 
a  good  deal  now,  and  I  knew  I  could  not  face  them 
all  again  without  showing  that  I  was  injured.  I 
found  it  necessary,  indeed,  to  take  hold  of  the  stair- 
rail  as  I  climbed  and  to  pause  at  the  landing;  but 
I  did  not  look  back  to  see  whether  King  noted  my 
condition.  I  crept  on  and  up  to  my  room,  turned 
on  my  lights,  and  sank,  faint  and  giddy,  into  a 
chair.  And  then  suddenly  everything  went  black,  as 
a  cloud  settled  over  my  eyes,  and  I  lost  knowledge 
of  the  world. 

271 


272  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

When  I  came  back  to  consciousness,  I  was  in  my 
bed,  swathed  tight  in  bandages,  and  Graham  was  at 
my  side.  Bustling  about  the  room  was  Mrs.  Griggs, 
the  housekeeper.  At  the  foot  stood  old  John, 
eagerly  solicitous. 

"  Oh,  you're  coming  to  again,  are  you,  young 
man  ?  "  were  the  doctor's  first  words. 

"  I've  had  a  knock-out?  "  I  asked  faintly. 

"  Came  near  being  worse  than  that,"  he  said 
gravely.  "  You  are  remarkably  strong." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  remembering.    "  How  bad  is  it?  " 

"  The  shoulder  wound  is  not  serious.  The  bullet 
in  your  side  cut  deep.  I  don't  know  yet  how  much 
trouble  it's  going  to  make." 

"  Not  much,"  I  answered  him.  "  It  didn't  hurt 
enough." 

He  smiled  grimly.  "  You  fellows  of  the  giant 
make  don't  know  when  you  are  hurt,"  he  replied. 

But  I  knew.  I  have  always  been  able  to  distin- 
guish the  shallow  from  the  deep  injury  by  the  feel 
of  the  wound. 

"  And  Miss  Philbric?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  is  not  hurt.  It  was  your  blood — close  to 
your  heart's  blood,  young  fellow — that  was  spilled 
upon  her." 

His  words  went  deeper  than  he  knew. 

"  How  could  they  catch  you  so  low  in  the  side, 
over  the  back  of  the  car?"  he  asked  me,  and  his 
look  down  upon  me  was  queer. 

"  I  was  standing  up,"  I  said. 


Love  Out  of  Leash  273 

"  While  Donna  ran  the  motor?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  She  will  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

"  She  has,"  he  said.  "  But  she  didn't  know  that, 
I  think."  The  expression  of  his  face  changed 
slowly  and  he  regarded  me  with  a  new  look  of  the 
eyes.  "  She  didn't  know  you  were  hurt,"  he  added 
presently. 

"  Of  course,"  I  said.  "  Don't  tell  them  more  than 
you  have  to.  I  can  get  up  to-morrow?  " 

"  You  cannot.  You  will  lie  still  till  I  know  where 
that  bullet  is  that  cut  the  hole  in  your  side." 

I  stared  at  him.  I  would  not  lie  still,  of  course. 
I  was  not  crippled.  I  laughed.  "  Do  you  think  I'm 
going  to  be  cut  out  of  the  game  like  this?  "  I  asked 
resentfully. 

He  did  not  answer  my  question.  He  put  another 
instead.  "  When  did  you  last  eat  ?  " 

I  paused  to  think.  I  had  not  thought  of  food  that 
day  certainly.  I  remembered  gradually.  "  Yester- 
day noon,"  I  said,  and  grinned  at  him. 

"  I  thought  as  much.  Donna  has  not  eaten  since 
breakfast.  Did  you  two  plan  to  starve  yourselves  ?  " 

I  felt  a  pang  of  compunction.  I  had  forgotten 
for  two. 

"  But,"  said  the  doctor,  "  the  girl  has  slept  most 
of  the  time.  You  have  not,  and  what's  more  you've 
lost  some  quarts  of  blood,  I  should  judge  by  your 
clothing.  I  think  even  you  may  feel  content  to  rest 
awhile  and  recuperate  now." 


274  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

He  turned  to  the  housekeeper,  and  she  came  for- 
ward, smiling. 

"  Do  you  feel  better  ? "  she  asked  kindly,  and 
reached  to  straighten  my  pillow  with  a  truly  moth- 
erly touch. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.    "  I'm  all  right." 

I  did  not  see  how  I  could  well  question  the  doctor 
or  the  servants  about  the  things  I  most  wished  to 
know,  so  I  lay  rather  silent,  only  acquiescing  to  the 
proposals  they  made  for  my  comfort.  Truth  to  tell, 
there  was  indeed  a  feeling  of  languor  and  willing- 
ness to  rest  upon  me.  But  a  fever  burned  in  my 
heart.  I  longed  with  unspeakable  longing  to  see 
the  dear  girl  whom  I  had  dragged  into  peril  and 
to  assure  myself  with  my  own  eyes  that  she  was 
safe  and  none  the  worse  for  the  wild  adventure 
we  had  come  through  together.  But  I  could  not  ask 
for  her. 

I  accepted  the  proposal  that  I  should  eat,  and  I 
nodded  adieu  to  the  doctor  as  he  went  off  down- 
stairs with  final  prohibition  upon  any  activity  on 
my  part.  I  received  old  John's  kindly  attentions 
and  then  ate  from  the  tray  that  Mrs.  Griggs  brought 
to  me.  But  my  thoughts  were  not  on  any  of  these 
things.  They  went  over  the  day's  happenings  in 
swift  review  with  the  ever  keen  consciousness  of 
the  sweet  companionship  that  had  been  mine.  And 
I  knew  that  love  had  put  its  roots  too  deep  into 
my  heart  ever  to  be  torn  out. 

But  Mrs.  Griggs  would  talk.     "  I  thought  she 


Love  Out  of  Leash  275 

was  her  brother,  too,  Mr.  Randall,"  was  the  remark 
that  finally  arrested  my  attention. 

"You?"  I  said. 

"  Yes.  I  saw  her  after  she  had  dressed  in  his 
clothes  and  put  on  the  cap.  I  had  no  notion  that 
she  was  not  Hal.  Neither  had  any  one  else — except 
Mr.  King." 

I  did  not  comment  on  that. 

"  And  when  you  carried  her  off  we  all  thought 
you  were  taking  Hal.  And  the  officers  thought  so, 
too,  and  followed  you." 

A  sudden  recollection  came  to  me.  "  The  girl !  " 
I  exclaimed.  "What  about  the  girl,  Aileen?  She 
gave  the  alarm." 

"  Alarm  ?  "  repeated  the  housekeeper. 

"  Yes.  I  passed  her  in  the  hall,  with  Hal  in — I 
passed  her  when  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  garage. 
Before  I  ran  the  car  out  I  heard  her  scream  for  the 
officers  to  come." 

The  woman  regarded  me  curiously.  "  Oh,"  she 
said.  Then,  "  No,  no !  Did  you  think  so  ?  Don't 
you  know  what  she  did  ?  " 

"  I  heard  her  call  for  help." 

"  No,  indeed,  you  didn't,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Griggs 
with  sudden  indignation.  "  Listen.  I  saw  that 
from  the  windows  of  the  linen-room.  I  saw  you 
go  out  and  I  saw  Aileen  come  back  into  the  room 
with  me  and  stand  quite  still  waiting  in  silence  for 
what  would  happen  as  all  of  us  did.  And  then 
one  of  the  officers  came  running  past  the  window 


276  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

and  turned  down  the  path  to  the  garage.  And  that 
girl — do  you  want  to  know  what  she  did?  She 
whirled  back  into  the  hall  and  to  the  outside  door 
and  screamed  as  if  she  was  killed.  And  she  called 
the  officer  back  and  said,  '  Here  he  is !  Here  he 
is ! '  till  the  fellow  came  running  up  the  steps.  And 
she  led  him  up  the  stairs  and  halfway  through  the 
hall  before  he  suspected  he  was  tricked.  And  then 
it  was  too  late.  You'd  got  away." 

I  raised  upon  my  elbow  despite  the  doctor's  in- 
junctions. "  By  the  lord  Harry !  "  I  said.  "  She's 
one  brick !  She  ought  to  have  a  reward !  " 

"  She  doesn't  want  one,  Mr.  Randall,"  said  the 
housekeeper.  "  And  what's  more,"  she  added 
hastily,  "  I've  found  out  about  that  plan  of  the 
grounds.  She  didn't  even  know  what  it  was.  She 
found  it  in  that  very  back  staircase  through  which 
you  passed." 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  and  was  silent,  while  a  new  course 
of  thought  came  swiftly  into  my  brain. 

"  And  that  makes  a  new  clue  to  the  queer  mys- 
tery of  the  cigarettes." 

"  The  cigarettes  ?  "  I  asked.  "  What  do  you  know 
about  the  cigarettes  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  cigarettes  Mr.  King  found  in  the  at- 
tic," she  answered,  looking  at  me  astonished. 

"  Oh,"  said  I  again.  "  King  found  cigarettes,  too, 
did  he  ?  So  did  I.  In  the  attic,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  on  the  floor — four  of  them." 

"  What  kind  were  they?  "  I  asked,  smiling. 


Love  Out  of  Leash  277 

"  They're  a  kind  that  is  called  Peacherino,"  she 
said. 

"  I  see.  I  found  one  this  morning  in  the  path  at 
the  side  gate.  Our  ghost  smokes.  But  the  attic, 
you  say  ?  What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  she  answered. 
"  Nobody  seems  to.  Mr.  King  spent  all  the  even- 
ing, after  he  got  back  here,  hunting  about." 

"  I  see,"  said  I.  "  Is  there  any  way  from  the  attic 
into  the  front  halls?" 

"  Why,  no,  sir,  not  direct." 

"  Isn't,  eh  ?  Well,  it's  a  mystery  still,  then,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

As  she  spoke  she  rose.  Some  one  was  at  the 
door,  and  I  looked  up  as  a  knock  sounded  on  the 
panel.  It  was  Donna. 

For  an  instant  my  cup  of  satisfaction  was  full, 
but  almost  immediately  it  was  dashed.  King  was 
with  her.  They  came  forward  together.  The  girl 
almost  ran  to  the  side  of  my  bed. 

"Dan  Randall!"  she  cried.  "You  were  hurt! 
You  were  shot  out  there  on  the  road  and  you  never 
told  me." 

I  laughed,  and  from  my  soul  I  thanked  the  man 
who  had  winged  me.  Nor  could  I  forbear  to  take 
the  hand  she  rested  on  the  pillow. 

"  It  is  just  lucky,"  said  I,  "  that  the  fellow  we 
ducked  wasn't  as  good  with  his  gun  as  the  friend 
who  came  at  his  call." 


278  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

But  she  did  not  smile.  She  shuddered.  "  I  didn't 
realize  how  near  he  was  to  killing  you,"  she  said. 

"  It  wasn't  near  at  all,"  I  answered.  "  He  had 
no  time  for  any  aim,  but  he  had  to  shoot.  He 
merely  pulled  his  trigger  in  perfectly  blind  help- 
lessness." 

I  looked  up  at  her  with  the  love  for  her  blinding 
me  to  all  else  as  she  stood  close  beside  me  and  let 
her  hand  remain  in  mine.  She  smiled — kindly — 
down  upon  me. 

"  They  didn't  catch  us,"  she  said  simply. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  they  didn't  catch  us." 

King  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  I  felt  his  eyes 
upon  me  then  and  turned  to  him.  I  was  not  averse 
to  letting  him  feel  a  pang  of  jealousy  for  a  moment, 
after  his  treatment  of  me.  But  the  power  I  held 
for  an  instant  was  what  would  make  later  recollec- 
tion bitter,  when  his  time  came  again — for  all  time. 
His  dark  eyes  stared  at  me  moodily  and  I  saw  the 
skepticism  in  them. 

"  Just  when  were  you  shot  ?  "  he  asked  me,  with- 
out even  the  grace  of  a  mention  of  my  name. 

"  Oh,  this  evening,"  I  answered  him  carelessly. 

His  face  turned  red  at  the  counter-thrust.  He 
moved  to  go  away,  then  turned  again  with  the  light 
in  his  eyes  narrowing  to  a  glitter.  But  Donna  was 
looking  in  startled  fashion  from  one  to  the  other 
of  us  and  he  hesitated. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

The  housekeeper  had  left  us  and  no  servants  were 


Love  Out  of  Leash  279 

within  hearing.  King's  anger  broke  out  beyond  his 
control. 

"  Donna,"  he  said,  "  if  you  know  this  man,  please 
introduce  me." 

She  gazed  at  him  amazed. 

"  Who  is  he?  "  asked  the  angry  fellow,  and  in  the 
moment  of  his  attack  I  pitied  him.  I  saw  that  he 
had  been  bearing  the  unendurable.  But  it  was  not 
for  me  to  answer  him  direct. 

"  Tell  him  who  I  am,"  I  said  to  the  girl,  holding 
fast  to  her  soft  ringers  that  could  touch  with  such 
gentleness,  but  that  had  dared  to  drive  that  motor- 
car across  the  railway  trestle. 

She  looked  down  at  me  again  and,  for  a  moment, 
her  face  softened.  Then  slowly  the  blush  mounted 
from  cheek  to  brow  and  spread  over  her  whole  face 
as  she  answered. 

"  He  is  Dan  Randall,"  she  said;  and  that  was  all. 

The  thing  stirred  me  to  the  soul.  I  laughed  and 
started  up.  "  Bob  King,"  I  said,  "  I  take  you  for 
a  man.  If  you  are,  speak  out  now  and  tell  me 
what  you  hold  against  me." 

But  his  suspicion  was  too  deep  for  fair  words. 
He  sneered.  "  Why  do  you  smoke  cigarettes  in  the 
attic?  "  he  asked. 

I  could  hardly  credit  my  ears.  But  of  all  the 
things  that  can  make  a  fool  of  a  man,  count  jeal- 
ousy the  first.  I  shouted  with  laughter. 

"  Peacherino  cigarettes?"  I  demanded.  A  flash 
of  intelligence  came  to  illuminate  his  position. 


280  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Yes,"  he  cried.  "  What  sort  of  a  cheap  trickster 
are  you?  What  kind  of  a  mountebank  mas- 
querader?  " 

"  That's  four,"  said  I  calmly.  "  King,  you  are 
making  a  fool  of  yourself  and  trying  to  be  my 
enemy.  Haven't  we  enemies  enough  without  a  fight 
among  ourselves  ?  I'll  answer  you  though.  I 
haven't  smoked  a  cigarette  since  I  was  sixteen.  If 
you  found  the  box  in  my  coat  that  I  left  on  a  chair 
here  this  morning,  you  found  what  looked  like  a 
clue " 

"  They  were  on  your  dresser,"  he  interrupted. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  then  John  put  them  there  when 
he  took  my  coat  for  a  pressing,  or  something  of  the 
sort.  But,  man,  those  cigarettes  were  bought  at  the 
village  to-day  to  identify  a  stub  I  found  in  the  path 
outside — like  the  stubs  you  found  in  the  attic." 

"  Who  told  you  that?  "  he  asked. 

;<  You  might  as  well  have  told  me.  But  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  Mrs.  Griggs  gave  me  the  first  informa- 
tion. Now  tell  me  why  you  construe  every  incident 
wilfully  against  me — you  and  Doctor  Graham?  " 

He  had  opened  his  mouth  to  speak  in  answer  and 
his  face  was  white  with  anger,  when  Donna  sud- 
denly held  up  her  hand. 

"Wait,  Bob,"  she  said.  "You  two  shall  not 
quarrel.  I  will  not  have  it.  I  know  you  both  too 
well  to  believe  you  have  the  basis  for  it.  You  shall 
stop  now  till  we  have  all  the  facts.  Then  you  can 
explain,  or  I  shall  for  you.  But,  Bob,  look  at  Dan's 


Love  Out  of  Leash  281 

face.     He  is  doing  what  Doctor  Graham  said  he 
distinctly  must  not.     He  shall  rest  now.     We  must 

go." 

I  settled  back  upon  the  pillow.  Indeed,  I  had 
felt  already  the  start  of  bleeding  in  my  wounds.  But 
King  turned  away  without  a  word  and  walked  to  the 
door.  Donna  stood  still,  looking  after  him.  I  felt 
her  hand  move  to  withdraw  itself  from  mine,  but  I 
could  not  let  it  go.  King  stepped  outside  and  still 
she  stood  beside  me,  silent,  looking  after  the  man 
who  had  left  us.  At  last  she  turned  once  more 
quietly  to  me. 

"  Why  did  you  stand  in  the  car  ? "  she  asked 
slowly. 

My  heart  stood  still.  Then  I  tried  desperately 
to  answer  lightly. 

'  To  see  ahead,"  I  said.  But  I  could  not  even 
smile  to  carry  the  jesting  words.  My  whole  soul 
was  crying  out  to  be  heard — just  to  tell  her  why 
I  would  lay  my  life  at  her  dear  feet. 

'  You  were  shot  because  you  stood,"  she  said. 
"Why  did  you  stand?" 

I  could  not  speak.  I  would  have  made  a  laugh  of 
it  if  I  could,  but  no  words  came.  I  felt  her  fingers 
tighten  on  mine. 

'  You  did  it  to  save  me,"  she  said  softly.  "  You 
saved  my  life." 

I  turned  my  rough  unshaven  cheek  against  her 
hand.  I  could  not  longer  hold  the  leash.  "  God 
forgive  me  for  telling  you,  Donna,"  I  whispered. 


282  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  But  you  are  safe  now  and  I  cannot  help  it.    I  love 
you." 

I  closed  my  eyes,  with  the  physical  faintness 
again  upon  me.  My  disturbed  wounds  were  taking 
toll  of  my  strength  again.  I  felt  consciousness  slip- 
ping away  and  I  pressed  her  fingers  to  my  lips  once, 
as  the  darkness  crowded  in  again  between  me  and 
the  light. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
A  GHOST  THAT  SMOKED 

FT  seemed  but  the  lapse  of  an  instant  before  I 
•*•  opened  my  eyes  once  more,  this  time  to  the  face 
of  the  doctor  and  heard  him  speaking. 

"  No,"  said  I,  as  clearly  as  I  could.  "  No,  Fm 
all  right." 

The  girl  was  standing  by  the  foot  of  the  bed 
now,  where  also  were  King  and  Mrs.  Griggs,  all 
evidently  called  by  alarm  from  her.  And  distress 
was  written  on  her  face. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  I  assured  her,  and  smiled  at  her. 
I  would  have  given  worlds  to  call  back  the  last  mo- 
ment of  my  consciousness  and  have  her  there  again 
alone.  But  she  was  beyond  my  reach  now,  and  the 
doctor's  orders,  when  he  had  looked  a  moment 
longer  at  me,  were  sharp  and  peremptory.  And  all 
I  had  by  way  of  good-night  was  a  nod  and  smile — 
that  meant  nothing  to  me — nothing  but  simple  good- 
night. 

They  turned  down  my  light  and  left  me,  and  I 
lay  with  my  ear  upon  my  pillow  and  heard  my 
heart-beat  echo  there  as  it  used  to  do  when  I  was 
a  little  chap  and  went  wakeful  and  supperless  to 

283 


284  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

bed  as  punishment  for  some  boyish  insubordination. 
Heaven  knows  I  was  insubordinate  now.  I  had  let 
my  passion  out  of  control  and  it  had  no  mind  to 
return;  and  I  lay  with  fever  burning  me  and  a  mad 
desire  upon  me  to  be  up  and  seeking  out  the  girl 
I  loved,  to  be  with  her  again — to  demand  an  answer 
to  the  love  I  had  given  and  could  not  recall. 

My  window  was  open  and  the  soft  night  breeze 
was  blowing  in  again,  sweet  and  damp  and  spring- 
like once  more  after  the  rain.  I  felt  it  cool  upon 
my  face  and  lay  still  to  breathe  it  and  to  calm  the 
tumult  that  seemed  to  fill  my  being.  I  looked  out 
at  the  top  of  the  swaying  maples  where  the  leaves 
were  thickening  to  cast  a  shadow  now,  and  I  re- 
membered that  one  more  day  had  passed — just  one 
more  day  since  my  cards  were  dealt.  Was  the  game 
near  its  end?  And  was  I  loser — or  to  win? 

It  seems  to  me  that  it  was  hours  before  I  slept. 
The  house  was  still — kept  so  purposely,  of  course. 
I  lay  counting  the  moments  over  since  I  had  first 
seen  beautiful  Donna  Philbric  and  remembering  that 
I  had  lived  a  life  before — a  forgotten  thing  now.  I 
thought  of  the  story  as  a  dream  at  moments — then 
as  the  only  reality  I  had  ever  known.  I  remembered 
Hal  again  too,  poor  boy,  and  his  trouble,  as  some- 
thing far  back  in  the  past,  behind  this  day  and  its 
final  hour.  And  I  wondered  how  long  now  we 
might  be  immune  from  the  trouble  that  was  still 
to  come,  that  was  not  ended  yet.  And  then  I  slept, 
and  woke  to  the  silence  and  darkness  of  early  morn- 


A  Ghost  that  Smoked  285 

ing;  and  then  to  sounds  that  brought  me  again 
sharply  to  immediate  realities. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  was  I  heard  at  first.  Some 
creaking  of  flooring,  some  snap  of  a  latch  or  click 
of  lock,  some  scrape  of  a  foot  or  incautious  stumble. 
My  eyes  opened  wide  in  the  gloom — for  my  light 
had  been  turned  out  while  I  slept — and  I  saw  in  the 
middle  of  my  chamber,  against  the  white  enamel 
of  the  door,  a  small  figure,  shrunken  or  misshapen, 
shadowy,  stealthy — saw  it  moving — quietly,  care- 
fully moving  toward  me  in  fashion  that  held  me 
bound  in  sudden  tense  alertness. 

Who  or  what  it  might  be  was  utterly  beyond  me 
at  first;  but  presently  I  became  sure  of  the  single 
fact  that  the  being  was  human  and  I  began  with 
care  equal  to  his  to  prepare  for  what  I  supposed  was 
imminent  attack.  My  arms  were  under  the  covers. 
I  drew  my  hands  slowly  to  the  edge  of  the  blankets 
at  my  chin  and  flexed  my  elbows  out.  If  it  were 
to  be  a  trial  of  muscular  strength  I  had  little  fear 
for  mine,  though  I  could  not  yet  reason  out  a  cause 
for  such  attack.  I  felt  the  first  sense  of  rest  one 
often  feels  when  waked  at  an  early  hour  after  deep 
and  dreamless  sleep,  and  I  half  forgot  my  injured 
condition  as  I  waited  with  stirring  pulses  for  as- 
sault. The  man — if  man  he  was — would  doubt- 
less be  armed.  If  with  a  pistol,  it  would  do  me  no 
good  to  start  up  and  make  a  mark  of  myself  anew 
before  he  was  within  my  striking  distance.  Of  any 
other  weapon  I  had  little  fear,  for  he  was  small, 


286  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

this  fellow — a  boy,  it  seemed,  and  undersized  at 
that,  if  I  should  allow  for  the  probable  magnifying 
influence  of  the  dark. 

He  was  slow  and  cautious  to  the  last  degree.  I 
had  time  to  grow  impatient  while  he  stopped  and 
stood  and  waited  and  watched  and  listened.  He 
made  not  a  sound  now,  that  I  could  hear.  There 
was  no  scuff  or  stumble  that  could  wake  a  cat.  I 
had  time  to  calculate  what  I  would  do  and  plan  a 
trick  for  taking  him  by  surprise,  so  that  grappling 
with  him  would  be  easy  and  safe  in  case  he  had 
a  knife. 

And  then  suddenly  I  began  to  be  conscious  of  the 
stale  odor  of  cigarettes  about  me  once  more,  and 
the  meaning  of  this  thing  broke  upon  me.  At  the 
same  instant  I  also  began  to  see  that  the  aim  of  this 
queer  creature  was  not  at  me  at  all,  but  that  he 
was  meaning  only  to  pass  me  and  my  bed,  in  slow 
painstaking  attempt  to  reach  my  closet  door. 

When  I  saw  that  I  bolstered  up  my  patience. 
Here,  then,  was  to  be  the  elucidation  of  one  of  our 
riddles — the  riddle  of  the  bringing  of  our  "  red 
letters."  Here  was  the  mischief-maker  who  had 
fooled  us  all  and  done  as  much  to  hurt  Hal  as  had 
any  other  agent  or  effort  of  his  enemies.  And  I 
began  to  solve  the  doings  of  the  rascal  there,  as  I 
lay  watching  his  enormously  careful  progress 
through  my  room.  The  cigarette  in  the  path,  the 
plan  of  the  grounds  on  the  stairs,  the  cigarettes  in 
the  attic,  the  odor  in  my  room,  the  broken  vase,  the 


A  Ghost  that  Smoked  287 

disappearance  of  the  prowler  who  could  not  have 
gone  through  the  locked  door.  All  these  minor  mys- 
teries linked  together  hung  about  this  little  chap 
who  now,  almost  in  arm's  length  of  me,  was  creep- 
ing past  me  on  some  new  mission.  It  would  be  his 
last  here. 

I  moved  slightly.  The  small  figure  stood  still  as 
a  block  of  stone.  I  began  to  breathe  heavily,  in 
feigned  semblance  of  sleep.  He  crept  on.  I  even 
tried  a  slight  snore  in  rising  spirit  of  jest.  The 
effect  was  to  lighten  the  fellow's  caution.  He 
reached  the  door  of  my  closet.  It  was  closed.  He 
opened  it  slowly  without  a  sound  from  the  knob. 
Then  stepping  inside,  he  drew  it  carefully  together 
after  him  and  was  gone. 

In  an  instant,  regardless  of  wounds  or  orders, 
I  was  out  of  bed.  Next  moment  I  had  turned  on 
my  lights  from  a  switch  by  the  door  and  was  back 
at  the  closet.  Recalling  painstakingly  the  exact  loca- 
tion of  the  light  inside,  I  then  turned  the  knob  and 
drew  open  the  door  and  reached  instantly  to  fill  the 
closet  with  light.  Next  moment  there  was  a  crash. 
Something  seemed  to  fall  from  above  and  strike  the 
floor  at  my  feet,  and  a  wild  little  animal  plunged 
against  my  legs  in  a  desperate  scramble  to  get  by 
and  out. 

I  reached  down  and  caught  him  up  clear  of  the 
floor  and  turned  to  the  light.  I  held  him  tight  by 
the  collar  of  his  coat;  but  he  did  not  offer  to  strug- 
gle, and  I  was  so  much  surprised  at  that,  that  I 


a88  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

set  him  on  his  feet  and  nearly  lost  my  hold  because 
of  the  sudden  effort  he  made  to  escape  the  instant 
he  felt  the  slight  loosening  of  my  hands. 

But  I  did  not  quite  let  him  go.  I  drew  him  over 
to  the  hall  door  which  was  open.  I  closed  it  quickly 
and  locked  it,  taking  out  the  key.  Returning  to  the 
bed,  within  arm's  length  of  the  closet  opening,  I 
released  my  prisoner  and  sat  down.  He  was  a 
strange  little  rat  of  a  creature,  half  man,  half  boy, 
and  I  no  sooner  had  a  fair  look  at  him  than  my  pity 
went  out  to  him. 

He  stood  quite  still  now.  Evidently  he  knew 
when  he  was  caught,  He  was  a  hunchback,  bent 
over  and  twisted  with  his  deformity.  His  face  was 
small  and  pinched,  his  figure  thin.  His  eyes,  how- 
ever, were  bright  and  clear  and  shrewd.  He  looked 
all  of  twenty-five  years  old. 

"  Well,"  said  I  to  him,  "  and  who  may  you  be  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  me.  His  eyes  went  over  me 
with  obvious  measuring  glance. 

"  See  here,"  said  I,  "  be  honest  with  me.  You're 
caught  and  your  game  is  up.  Now  tell  me  all  about 
it  and  I'll  let  you  off  the  easier  for  it." 

Still  he  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  shifted  around 
the  room,  looked  at  me  again,  then  turned  all  about 
once  more.  I  reached  out  and  took  hold  of  his 
small  misshapen  shoulders. 

"  See  here,"  said  I,  "  who  sent  you  here  ?  " 

No  answer ;  but  he  looked  at  me  and  then  seemed 
unable  to  look  away  again. 


A  Ghost  that  Smoked  289 

"  Did  you  come  to  take  something  away  from 
my  room  ?  "  I  asked,  resorting  to  the  more  direct 
form  of  question. 

He  shook  his  head  now. 

"Why,  then?  To  see  if  Mr.  Philbric  is  still  in 
the  house?" 

His  eyes  narrowed,  but  he  was  silent. 

"Was  that  it?"  I  asked. 

His  look  grew  cunning.  Then  he  dropped  his 
eyes. 

"  I  see,"  said  I.  "  Well,  you  haven't  found  him, 
have  you  ?  He  isn't  here,  is  he  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  I  wondered  how  much  prowl- 
ing the  little  fellow  could  have  done  about  the  place. 
"  Did  you  come  through  that  closet  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  nodded.  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  went  to  the 
closet  door  again.  The  light  from  the  incandescent 
inside  gave  me  enough  illumination  to  see  distinctly. 
I  looked  around  the  walls  and  then  at  the  ceiling. 
In  an  instant  I  made  a  curious  discovery.  The  ceil- 
ing was  of  boarding  and  in  one  corner  a  portion 
of  it  was  misplaced  and  showed  a  trap-door  as 
plainly  as  could  be  desired. 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  that's  the  way  you  came  in?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  but  looked  strangely  at  me. 

"  Did  Judson  Bain  send  you  to  spy  on  this 
house?" 

Another  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Did  any  of  Bain's  men  send  you?  " 

No  answer. 


290  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Now,  young  man,"  I  said,  "  you  may  as  well 
tell  me.  Did  Wheeler  Scancey  send  you?" 

His  eyes  had  been  dodging  mine.  As  I  mentioned 
the  lawyer's  name  they  stopped  suddenly  in  the 
effort  and  looked  straight  at  me  again.  "  They 
made  me,"  he  said  suddenly. 

"  Of  course  they  did.  Scancey  sent  you,  did  he? 
Did  he  come  here  with  you  ?  " 

The  head  shook  decidedly. 

"  You  are  the  fellow  who  brought  the  message 
from  Bain  or  Scancey  to  Mr.  Hal  the  day  that  Punk 
Salver  was  shot  ?  "  said  I. 

He  looked  at  me  queerly,  then  suddenly  shook 
his  head  once  more,  but  with  a  violence  that  was 
suggestive  of  greater  responsiveness. 

"  Not  from  Bain  or  Scancey  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  From  Punk,"  said  he,  as  abruptly  as  he  had 
spoken  before. 

"  You  brought  the  message  from  Punk  himself  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  thing  startled  me.  Here  was  evidence  cer- 
tainly. I  pulled  him  around  and  made  him  sit  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed  beside  me. 

"If  you  will  tell  me  the  exact  truth  about  all 
this,"  said  I,  "  I  will  let  you  go  free  and,  what  is 
more,  I  will  be  your  friend." 

"  Punk  sent  me,"  repeated  the  fellow. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.    "  Did  Punk  pay  you  anything?  " 

"  Sure,"  he  answered  briefly. 

Then  Judson  Bain's  story  of  having  sent  Punk 


A  Ghost  that  Smoked  291 

Salver  to  Hal  was  one  lie  that  I  had  disproved  if 
this  story  was  true,  and  it  seemed  to  have  the  sound 
of  truth.  I  began  to  grow  excited. 

"  Is  somebody  waiting  outside  for  you  now? "  I 
asked. 

He  nodded. 

"Who?" 

"  Dad  Langhorn,"  he  said. 

"  Just  why  did  you  come  here  to-night  ?  " 

"  To  see  if  Hal  was  here." 

"  Don't  you  know  that  he  went  away  ?  "  I  haz- 
arded. 

"  No,  he  didn't." 

I  wondered  if  this  positiveness  had  foundation  in 
the  fact  that  we  had  effectually  deceived  our  enemy. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  I  asked. 

"  Mr.  King  brought  him  back  again." 

"What?"  I  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"  He  brought  him  back.  Hal  is  in  the  house 
again." 

It  was  surely  my  turn  to  feel  surprise.  The 
fellow  spoke  with  assurance  that  was  enough  to 
shake  the  firmness  of  any  impression  I  had  had 
before.  Could  this  thing  be  true?  Had  King 
played  a  game  that  he  had  not  revealed  to  me — or 
to  Donna?  She  had  told  me  that  the  boy  had  been 
taken  to  a  sanitarium  in  the  North.  Did  she  know 
that  to  be  a  fact?  Perhaps  King  had  failed  in  his 
mission  for  some  reason  and  had  brought  the  sick 
boy  back  to  the  house  secretly,  with  the  plan  of 


292  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

hiding  him  here  better  than  anywhere  else,  now  that 
the  impression  was  abroad  that  he  had  fled.  But 
this  fellow  knew  it,  if  such  were  the  case,  and  he 
was  avowedly  the  emissary  of  Scancey. 

"Where  is  Hal?"  I  asked  suddenly. 

He  grinned  up  in  my  face.  He  was  gaining  more 
and  more  confidence  from  my  treatment  of  him. 
"  Here,"  he  replied.  "  We  saw  him  come  back." 

I  believed  him. 

"  Do  you  smoke  cigarettes  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  wonderingly. 

I  took  hold  of  his  hand  and  looked  at  his  ringers. 
The  telltale  stains  showed  on  them  plainly.  "  What 
kind?"  I  asked. 

"  Peacherino." 

"  Who  is  Dad  Langhorn  ?  "  I  asked,  without  com- 
ment. 

"  Dad  Langhorn." 

"  Does  he  live  in  Hazelhurst  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Garth." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  At  the  livery." 

I  wondered  if  I  might  not  be  able  to  dress.  I 
felt  weak,  but  I  determined  to  try.  The  hunch- 
back made  no  move  whatever.  He  sat  looking  about 
him.  He  was  certainly  a  strange  little  creature.  If 
half  of  what  he  had  told  me  was  true  our  case 
might  suddenly  take  a  new  turn  to-day.  But  which 


A  Ghost  that  Smoked  293 

way  it  would  turn  was  a  question  to  which  I  could 
not  foretell  the  answer.  Developments  were  com- 
ing faster  than  I  could  anticipate,  however.  I  was 
only  weakly  beginning  a  toilet  when  there  was  a 
knock  at  my  door.  I  went  to  open  it,  and  there 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  hall  stood  Hal  himself,  quite 
unmistakably,  pale  and  haggard  in  the  first  gray  of 
the  coming  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  WAY  OF  A  SPY 

I  THINK  neither  of  us  spoke  for  half  a  minute 
after  the  appearance  of  the  boy  at  my  door. 
Hal  stood  still  and  looked  first  at  me  and  then  at 
the  hunchback  on  the  bed,  with  almost  as  complete 
surprise  as  I  felt  in  looking  upon  him.  At  last  he 
spoke. 

"  I  heard  you  talking  and  came  to  see  you,"  he 
announced.  "  I  heard  about  your  hurts  and  was 
too  anxious  about  you  to  wait." 

"  And  haven't  you  been  away  ?  "  I  asked,  aston- 
ished. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.    But  didn't  King  tell  you  ?  " 

"  King  tells  me  nothing,  Hal.  He  doesn't  like 
me." 

The  boy  smiled  languidly.  Then  he  looked  again 
at  the  hunchback.  "  What  are  you  doing  here, 
Garth  ?  "  he  asked,  to  my  surprise,  showing  ready 
recognition  of  the  fellow. 

"  He  came  to  look  for  you,"  answered  I.  "  Evi- 
dently Scancey  knows  that  you  did  not  get  away." 

"  Did  Scancey  send  you?  "  asked  Hal  of  the  spy. 

The  fellow  seemed  more  free  to  speak  to  Philbric 
294 


The  Way  of  a  Spy  295 

than  to  me.  "  Yes,  he  sent  me,"  he  said.  "  He 
knows  you  came  back." 

"  I  was  afraid  so,"  said  Hal.  "  I  stayed  in 
King's  room,  Randall." 

"  This  is  the  young  man  who  has  been  favoring 
you  with  the  '  red  letters,'  "  said  I. 

Hal  looked  at  him.  "  Oh,  it  was  you,  was  it, 
Garth?  What  did  you  do  it  for?  " 

The  hunchback  looked  at  him  oddly,  then  sud- 
denly replied :  "  Money,  of  course." 

"  We  have  several  clues  here,  Hal,"  I  said.  "  The 
chap  admits  that  Punk  sent  him  to  you." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Philbric.  "  Where  have  you 
been  since,  Garth?"  he  asked  coolly. 

"  Up  to  Scancey's,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Haven't  I  been  kind  to  you,  young  man  ?  Why 
have  you  been  working  against  me  ?  " 

The  hunchback  looked  at  him  again  with  a  queer 
expression,  but  no  answer.  Then  Philbric  asked 
the  natural  question :  "  How  did  you  get  in  ?  " 

"  Through  the  garret  and  a  trap-door  in  the  ceil- 
ing of  my  closet,"  said  I. 

Philbric  stared  at  me,  his  memory  evidently 
searching  his  knowledge  of  the  old  house  for  some 
understanding  of  this.  "  Well,  by  all  that's 
strange !  "  he  exclaimed  suddenly.  "  I  never  knew 
that  there  was  such  a  place." 

The  hunchback  grinned.  "  Dad  Langhorn  put 
me  wise,"  he  announced  easily. 

"Well,  shades  of  the  chiefs!"  exclaimed  Hal, 


296  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

giving  voice  to  surprise  again.  "  Randall,  Dad 
Langhorn  used  to  work  for  my  father  years  ago. 
He  was  a  carpenter,  but  he  got  to  drinking  and 
drifted  down  till  he  was  no  good.  He  has  been  a 
bum  about  town  for  years.  You  say  Dad  Langhorn 
told  you  about  that  trap-door?"  he  asked  again  of 
the  boy.  "  Did  he  send  you  here  ?  " 

"  He  come  with  me." 

"  Is  he  about  the  place  now,  then?  " 

"  Yes." 

Philbric  stepped  to  the  bell  in  my  room  and 
touched  it.  In  a  moment  there  was  a  sound  of 
quick  feet  in  the  hall  and  a  rap  at  my  door.  Hal 
opened  it  and  old  John  stood  outside. 

"  Get  out  the  men  quietly,  John,"  he  said,  "  and 
look  for  a  man  in  the  grounds.  Old  Dad  Langhorn 
is  snooping  about  somewhere." 

Old  John  stared  at  the  hunchback.  "  Where'd 
he  come  from  ?  "  he  asked  of  Hal. 

"  He's  our  ghost,  it  seems,  John,"  answered  Hal. 

I  had  found  I  could  not  dress.  I  lay  back  upon 
the  bed  and  suggested  that  Hal  take  the  hunch- 
back, therefore,  and  go  to  the  garret  to  look  at 
the  trap.  They  went.  In  ten  minutes  they  were 
back  with  a  story  of  as  curious  a  contrivance  as  I 
have  ever  heard  of.  A  small  closet  there  was,  off 
the  garret,  to  which  the  hunchback  led.  There,  to 
Hal's  amazement,  he  pointed  out  that  a  portion  of 
its  floor — made  solidly  of  boards  and  so  well 
matched  with  the  rest  that  the  division  would  never 


The  Way  of  a  Spy  297 

be  noticed  when  it  was  in  place — was  arranged  as 
a  door  to  open  down  into  the  closet  below.  Hal 
was  firmly  of  the  opinion  that  if  the  spy  had  not  left 
it  out  of  place  at  the  time  when  he  tried  to  escape 
from  me,  it  would  never  have  been  discovered.  The 
trap  fitted  perfectly  in  place  when  it  was  pushed 
around  to  its  proper  position.  Garth  told  us  readily, 
in  answer  to  questions,  that  he  had  been  told  by 
Langhorn  just  how  to  climb  to  the  roof  of  the  west 
wing,  and  in  at  a  garret  window,  and  to  find  the 
place;  and  then  how  to  raise  the  trap  by  lifting  a 
piece  of  molding  at  the  bottom  of  the  wainscot  in 
the  darkest  portion  of  the  closet,  which  concealed 
a  hand-hold  for  his  fingers.  The  place  had  once 
been  the  only  means  of  access  to  that  portion  of 
the  garret  over  the  west  wing.  Through  the  top 
the  spy  had  descended  into  the  closet  below,  by 
means  of  hooks  and  the  chest  of  drawers  immedi- 
ately beneath  the  opening.  His  errands  had  been 
simply  the  delivery  of  the  messages  in  Hal's  room 
without  discovery,  and  it  appeared  that  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  house  was  due  to  the  very  kindness  of 
Hal  himself,  who  had  tried  to  befriend  the  queer 
chap  and  had  actually  tried  to  employ  him  at  one 
time  a  year  or  two  before.  The  fellow  had  left  him, 
however,  and  afterwards  had  given  no  excuse  for 
it,  and  Philbric  had  concluded  that  it  was  because 
he  preferred  the  low  life  of  the  men  at  the  stables. 
He  had  still  been  kind  to  the  cripple,  however,  and 
the  latter  had  been  at  The  Hazels  on  odd  jobs 


298  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

often,  even  up  to  within  a  few  days  before  the 
shooting. 

When  I  had  listened  to  the  whole  of  his  tale  I 
wondered  no  longer.  He  showed  extraordinary 
shrewdness  in  the  ways  in  which  he  had  dodged  un- 
suspecting servants  and  members  of  the  household. 
And  he  told  of  the  first  experiments  being  made 
before  my  room  was  occupied,  so  that  he  had 
gained  skill  in  the  manipulation  of  his  trap-door  and 
in  getting  down  and  up  before  he  had  greater  risks 
to  take.  But  I  confess  that  I  felt  there  could  be 
only  a  strange  obliquity  in  the  mind  of  the  fellow 
that  corresponded  to  the  deformation  of  his  body 
to  account  for  his  doings.  And  so  it  proved  after- 
wards. 

Our  men  came  in  to  report  soon  after  Hal's  re- 
turn. They  reported  failure,  too,  unfortunately. 
They  had  not  found  Dad  Langhorn.  He  was  gone. 
Perhaps  he  had  taken  alarm  at  the  long  absence  of 
the  boy  and  had  fled,  and  after  events  made  that 
seem  probable  indeed.  But  the  effect  of  our  activ- 
ities had  been  to  stir  the  house  to  wakefulness  and 
it  was  but  a  few  moments  after  we  had  completed 
our  investigation  of  the  garret  that  Donna  herself, 
and  almost  immediately  afterwards  King,  came  to 
join  us. 

Donna  made  considerable  fuss  about  my  condi- 
tion, and  I  had  to  acknowledge  to  myself  that  I  had 
been  playing  to  the  limit  of  my  strength.  And 
despite  my  interest  in  what  was  going  on,  I  was 


The  Way  of  a  Spy  299 

forced  to  remain  in  my  bed.  They  all  gathered 
in  my  room,  however.  And  then  I  heard  all  that 
had  happened  to  King  and  Hal  during  the  previous 
day. 

They  had  driven  away  with  the  hope  of  making  a 
quick  run  to  the  sanitarium  which  stood  near  the 
mountains  on  the  north,  and  they  had  actually 
reached  the  place,  only  to  find,  when  they  made 
their  request  for  a  refuge,  that  the  sanitarium  peo- 
ple would  not  take  Hal  in.  It  was  not  entirely 
incomprehensible,  of  course,  for  the  superintendent 
of  the  place  foresaw  undesirable  publicity  attached 
to  the  case,  if  not  worse,  if  he  should  harbor  the 
young  man  who  was  making  a  sensational  run  from 
the  law  in  his  strange  disguise.  At  any  rate  there 
was  nothing  the  superintendent  would  do  for  them 
for  love  or  money. 

The  thing  had  so  much  discouraged  Hal,  who 
had  already  made  serious  objections  to  the  whole 
scheme,  that  King  turned  about  with  the  plan  of 
consulting  Donna  by  telephone.  When  they  got  to 
a  place  where  they  could  telephone  the  house,  they 
received  such  a  strange  message  that  they  at  once 
became  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  the  girl  herself. 
One  of  the  servants  had  told  them  that  Donna  also 
had  run  away  from  the  officers.  It  developed  after- 
wards that  a  confused  story  of  what  had  actually 
happened  had  gotten  about  the  house,  and  that  some 
of  the  maids  were  so  thoroughly  frightened  and 
puzzled  that  they  could  hardly  give  an  intelligible 


300  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

answer  to  the  questions  asked  of  them.  King,  anx- 
ious, and  Hal,  half  wild  with  terror,  therefore,  took 
the  shortest  path  back;  and  when  they  arrived  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  found  that  Donna  had  actu- 
ally gone  away  and  with  me,  they  were  thoroughly 
at  sea.  King  started  all  sorts  of  activities  to  dis- 
cover our  whereabouts,  but  nothing  had  come  of  any 
of  them,  when  we  ourselves  appeared  and  told  our 
story.  But  King  had  deliberately  kept  the  truth 
regarding  Hal  from  me,  as  I  needed  no  footnotes 
to  inform  me  at  the  end  of  the  tale,  though  I  did  not 
comment  on  the  fact  then. 

The  household  was  up  early  and  the  housekeeper 
got  an  early  breakfast  for  us  while  we  debated  what 
next  to  do.  Hal  was  not  at  all  amenable  to  the 
wishes  of  the  rest  of  us  that  he  should  try  again  to 
escape.  The  news  that  the  hunchback  had  brought 
to  us  that  Bain  and  Scancey  knew  of  the  return  of 
Philbric  made  me  more  eager  than  ever  that  Hal 
should  run  for  it  again  while  he  had  a  chance;  for 
I  could  foresee  that  there  would  be  another  effort 
to  arrest  him  at  once,  or  at  least  as  soon  as  Dad 
Langhorn  should  carry  back  to  town  his  story  of 
Garth's  probable  detection  and  detention.  But  I 
did  not  anticipate  how  fast  Langhorn's  news  would 
travel  to  his  principals,  or  how  nearly  they  were 
prepared  to  act. 

I  think  Donna  was  the  least  disturbed  of  any  of 
us  at  first.  She  seemed,  too,  to  be  quite  unconscious 
of  any  reason  for  feeling  shy  of  me,  despite  my 


The  Way  of  a  Spy  301 

declaration  of  the  night  before.  What  to  augur 
from  this  was  quite  beyond  me.  It  looked  painfully 
like  indifference,  though  I  could  hardly  believe  she 
could  be  merely  indifferent  to  such  a  thing.  I  dared 
not  build  hopes.  It  seemed  too  obviously  hopeless 
a  case  for  me.  But  I  could  not  help  watching  the 
girl  for  a  sign  of  her  attitude  toward  me,  which 
amounted  to  almost  the  same  as  hope-building.  And 
I  did  feel  the  better  that  her  fears  seemed  for  the 
time  a  little  less  than  I  had  thought  they  might 
be.  I  had  no  chance  to  talk  alone  with  her,  how- 
ever. Whether  she  avoided  such  an  opportunity 
purposely,  I  cannot  say.  It  seems  to  me  not  entirely 
unlikely. 

Hal,  however,  seemed  to  cling  more  closely  to 
me  than  ever.  He  was  determined  that  he  would 
not  try  to  run  away  again,  but  otherwise  he  was 
very  tractable  and  he  seemed  to  prefer  to  be  with 
me  rather  than  with  King  or  any  of  the  others.  He 
did  not  tell  me  why,  though  I  guessed  it  in  part. 
He  seemed  to  look  upon  King  with  some  curious 
fear  now,  and  I  believed  that  it  might  have  to  do 
with  the  sanitarium  suggestion.  If  that  idea  were 
in  his  head  I  could  hardly  blame  him  for  preferring 
the  man  who  wanted  him  to  run  to  the  woods,  if  he 
were  to  run  at  all.  The  place  certainly  held  the 
pleasanter  suggestion. 

But  he  did  not  run.  We  had  no  chance.  Our 
enemies  were  alert  now,  and  they  acted  too  soon 
for  us  to  come  to  any  conclusion  at  all  after  dis- 


302  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

agreement  in  our  first  discussion.  We  had  only 
just  finished  the  early  breakfast — a  queer  little  di- 
vided household  of  us — when  the  alarm  came  that 
brought  the  crisis  of  all  our  trouble  suddenly 
upon  us. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
VENUS  GIVES  UP  A  SECRET 

I  WAS  so  determined  that  I  would  have  a  part  in 
the  day's  proceedings,  despite  my  injuries,  that 
I  persuaded  John  to  help  me  into  some  clothing  and 
downstairs  again.  But  I  had  only  just  arrived  in 
the  library  amid  a  flurry  of  surprise  and  remon- 
strance, and  settled  myself  on  the  couch  there,  when 
John,  who  had  gone  promptly  out,  came  suddenly 
back  again,  with  fear  and  trembling,  to  announce 
that  the  officers  were  at  hand.  He  was  half  apolo- 
getic, poor  old  fellow,  and  more  than  half  terror- 
ized— if  such  division  of  emotions  may  be  allowed — • 
as  he  stood  before  us,  giving  us  the  warning  that 
came  too  late  for  us  to  take  any  other  action  than  to 
brace  ourselves  to  meet  what  should  come.  I  have 
many  times  remembered  his  old  face,  wrinkled  with 
the  anxiety  of  the  moment,  as  he  said :  "  They've 
come,  Mr.  Hal — Mr.  King,  sir.  The  officers  have 
come." 

They  had  come  indeed.  They  were  in  the  porch 
before  they  were  discovered,  as  we  had  no  sentries 
out  that  morning,  and  they  crowded  in  upon  us 
almost  as  soon  as  John  had  the  words  out  of  his 

303 


304  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

mouth.  But  it  was  not  the  arrival  of  officers  alone 
that  caused  my  wrath  suddenly  to  rise  to  boiling  heat 
as  I  saw  the  men  in  the  big  hall,  gathering  about  our 
library  door.  It  was  the  fact  that,  with  them,  as 
active  participant  in  this  early  morning  raid  upon 
us,  was  Judson  Bain  himself,  vindictive,  deter- 
mined, fierce  with  passion  that  meant  not  to  be 
balked  now,  and  that  had  provided  abundantly  to 
see  his  enterprise  through  to  the  end. 

The  town  marshal,  Clausen,  was  ostensibly  the 
leader  of  the  gang — there  were  six  of  them.  But 
he  was  not  the  backbone  of  the  party.  Bain  was 
that.  But  with  Bain  I  was  not  a  little  dismayed  to 
see  the  curly-headed  one  with  whom  I  had  had  the 
adventure  of  the  day  before,  and  whom  I  had  left 
lying  half-drowned  on  the  bank  of  the  river  back  of 
Cold  Spring.  Here,  then,  were  two  men  who  had 
plenty  of  hatred  for  me  personally,  as  the  result 
of  my  escapades  and  who  were  bent  upon  revenge, 
not  only  against  me  but  against  Hal  as  well;  and 
the  thought  made  me  feel  suddenly  that  I  had  played 
a  poor  game  indeed,  that  had  balked  them  not  a 
whit  and  had  only  made  them  the  more  eager  for 
retaliation  against  us  all. 

"  We  want  two  men  here,"  was  the  announcement 
that  the  marshal  made  as  they  crowded  into  the 
room  on  the  heels  of  old  John,  as  it  were.  And  I, 
with  the  sense  of  my  own  heavy  responsibility, 
struggled  up  with  the  whole  strength  of  my  being 
in  rebellion  against  the  thing.  I  did  not  try  to 


Venus  Gives  Up  a  Secret  305 

stand  at  first,  but  sat  up  on  my  couch  and  sent  in 
my  challenge  with  heart  enough  to  make  them 
pause. 

"  What  authority  have  you  for  coming  into  this 
house  in  this  fashion?"  I  demanded.  I  knew  the 
relief  that  parleying  will  sometimes  bring  to  what 
may  at  first  appear  like  a  disastrous  situation. 

"  You  know  me,  sir,"  answered  the  marshal  with 
sufficiently  decent  respect. 

"  I  know  you  claim  to  be  the  marshal  of  Hazel- 
hurst,"  said  I.  "  And  I  am  ready  to  grant  that  you 
are.  But  who  are  these  ?  " 

I  indicated  Bain  and  the  rest  with  a  sweep  of  the 
hand  that  was  intended  to  nettle  the  big  red-faced 
— and  red-eyed — man.  And  the  stroke  told. 

"  I  think  I  have  you  where  I  want  you  now,"  he 
cried  out  at  me. 

I  grinned  at  him.  "  Oh,"  said  I,  "  you  are  my 
friend  of  the  little  hut  back  of  Cold  Spring,  aren't 
you?" 

He  cursed,  without  regard  for  the  presence  of 
Donna  and  Aunt  Charlotte.  "  Yes,"  he  cried. 
"  But  you  won't  get  away  this  time." 

"  It's  a  little  incautious  of  you  to  admit  that  inci- 
dent, isn't  it,"  I  asked,  "  in  presence  of  all  these 
witnesses?  " 

He  was  taken  aback,  as  I  intended  he  should  be. 
He  feared  he  had  made  a  more  compromising  ad- 
mission than  it  amounted  to,  and  it  made  him  furi- 
ous to  be  so  tricked. 


306  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Never  mind !  "  he  cried.  "  I  know  what  I'm 
about  now." 

"  I  suppose  you've  come  to  answer  to  me  for  the 
assault  upon  me  in  your  office  on  the  first  day  I 
arrived  in  this  town,"  said  I.  "  Is  that  it  ?  Or 
have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  take  me  while  you 
are  here  to  take  Philbric,  so  that  you  can  break  us 
together?" 

"  Yes,  both  of  you,"  he  cried,  unguardedly  again. 

"  Another  amiable  admission,"  said  I.  "  Wit- 
ness to  this,  my  friends.  We  have  a  pretty  case 
against  the  man  already,  I  think." 

But  while  I  spoke  a  sudden  idea  came  to  me  for 
a  play  that  should  bring  things  to  a  head  with  sud- 
denness that  might  materially  change  our  fortunes. 
I  got  slowly  upon  my  feet  and  turned  to  Bain. 

"  You  know,"  said  I,  "  that  if  Clarence  Salver 
were  alive  and  here  you  would  be  in  prison  or  in 
flight  at  this  moment." 

He  paled  a  bit,  and  I  suddenly  made  up  my  mind. 
I  took  a  step  toward  him  and  shook  my  fist  almost  in 
his  face. 

"  Judson  Bain,"  I  cried,  raising  my  voice  higher, 
"  you  are  a  liar,  a  conspirator,  a  coward,  a  would-be 
murderer.  You  stand  here  perjured  and  convicted. 
You  are  guilty  of  more  crimes  than  I  can  mention 
in  a  breath  and  you  are  going  to  suffer  a  richly  de- 
served punishment  for  them  all.  You  have  schemed 
wisely  and  well,  with  the  aid  of  that  fox  Scancey, 
haven't  you?  But  do  you  know  what  you  are  fac- 


Venus  Gives  Up  a  Secret          307 

ing  now?  I'll  tell  you,  just  for  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  cringe  and  break  here  before  the  boy 
you  have  tried  to  ruin.  The  girl  you  have  been 
trying  to  hide  has  been  traced.  The  hunchback, 
Garth,  your  agent  used  for  a  tool  in  spying  on  this 
house  has  confessed.  And  what  is  more,  you  fondly 
overconfident  rogue,  your  crime  has  found  you  out, 
for  the  letters — the  letters  that  Punk  Salver  stole 
from  your  office  and  that  you  know  fie  stole — the 
letters  that  have  evidence  in  them  to  support  Hal 
Philbric's  story  from  start  to  finish — the  letters  have 
turned  up,  after  all.  They  are  here,  safe  and  ac- 
counted for,  here  in  this  room !  " 

I  could  have  roared  with  laughter  at  the  face  of 
him.  Bluff,  pure  bluff  it  was  on  my  part,  but  it 
succeeded  far  beyond  any  dream  I  could  have  cher- 
ished for  it  if  I  had  had  time  to  dream  of  such 
things.  It  was  done  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
and  with  only  the  moment  to  prepare  tfie  manner  of 
it,  but  it  went  home  like  the  thrust  of  steel  in  his 
black  old  heart.  He  fairly  quailed  before  me.  He 
took  a  backward  step.  He  turned  white  as  the 
collar  about  his  fat  neck  and  his  very  face  seemed 
to  shrink.  He  never  dreamed  that  it  was  not  the 
truth  that  I  was  speaking  so  bravely.  He  never 
suspected  that  it  was  one  more  game  for  him — 
another  trap  for  his  clumsy  feet.  And  he  slipped 
into  it  like  the  coward  that  he  was. 

He  gasped.  "  Where  are  they  ?  "  he  asked,  with 
a  trembling  hand  extended  in  helpless  gesture. 


308  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

"  Here,"  I  cried.  "  Right  here,"  and  I  slapped 
my  own  pocket  as  if  with  all  the  confidence  in  the 
world. 

He  stared  at  me,  his  whole  face  expressive  of 
his  conviction  that  he  was  caught.  And  then,  all 
at  once,  I  saw  the  thing  in  his  eyes  that  I  might 
have  expected.  I  saw  him  turning  to  bay.  And 
before  I  could  stir  he  made  the  move  I  should  have 
anticipated.  Suddenly  crouching  and  grasping  the 
heavy  stick  he  carried  in  his  hand,  he  made  a  mad 
leap  at  me  and  struck  with  all  his  might  at  my 
head. 

I  dodged  and  the  blow  fell  short.  My  move, 
however,  brought  me  against  the  fireplace  and  al- 
most directly  in  front  of  Donna.  I  felt  a  stab  of 
agony  in  my  wound  and  I  instantly  saw  that  the 
next  blow  he  aimed  at  me — which  would  of  course 
be  immediate,  must  fall  on  me,  for  I  could  not 
dodge  again.  The  men  at  the  door  were  too  much 
surprised  to  act  and  so  were  my  friends.  Indeed, 
King  was  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room  and  Hal 
was  beyond  the  table.  Both  of  them  started  for- 
ward— 'King  with  a  leap  that  I  have  remembered 
as  an  offset  against  his  former  attitude  toward  me. 
But  neither  could  be  in  time.  I  had  nothing  with 
which  to  ward  off  his  blow  and  I  was  in  no  condi- 
tion to  make  a  plunge  at  him  that  could  be  ef- 
fective. I  saw  his  second  blow  coming  and  was 
helpless. 

But  at  the  instant  the  man  Clausen  sprang  for- 


Venus  Gives  Up  a  Secret  309 

ward  and  struck  the  big  man's  arm.  It  was  not  an 
effective  stroke  but  it  saved  my  head.  It  diverted 
Bain's  cruel  blow,  and  the  cane  came  down,  not 
upon  me,  but  with  a  jangling  crash  upon  the  bric-a- 
brac  on  the  mantel.  Next  instant  Clausen  had 
hurled  himself  upon  my  enemy  and  they  went  down 
to  the  floor  together,  while  the  nervy  little  constable 
crushed  his  hands  over  the  other's  face  and  crowded 
his  big  head  back  till  he  was  helpless. 

The  other  men  came  to  his  aid  then,  and  the 
marshal  himself  was  promptly  up  and  took  charge 
of  the  fellow.  He  shoved  a  big  gun  in  Bain's  face 
with  prompt  promise  to  use  it  if  the  man  started 
further  violence. 

I  sat  faintly  in  a  chair  with  the  certainty  that  I 
had  opened  my  wounds  again  and  wondering  how  I 
was  to  make  good  the  bluff  that  had  brought  on 
this  action.  But  before  I  had  time  to  think  of  an- 
other act  of  my  own,  I  heard  a  cry  from  Donna  that 
made  me  forget  everything  else.  I  turned  to  see 
her  drop  down  upon  the  floor  among  the  fragments 
of  broken  mantel  ornaments,  almost  as  if  they  were 
her  only  concern.  And  then,  all  at  once,  I  saw  a 
thing  that  made  me  forget  the  fight  and  all  it 
threatened  upon  us,  in  an  instant  of  huge  amaze- 
ment. For  there,  among  crushed  fragments  of  a 
little  statuette  of  the  Venus  de  Milo,  under  her 
hands  where  she  knelt  and  gathered  them  to  her 
with  eagerness  like  a  child's  over  beloved  toys  that 
have  been  scattered,  I  saw  a  little  group  of  papers, 


310  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

curled  up  with  being  long  rolled  together,  but  lying 
there  upon  the  tiles  of  the  hearth  as  if  they  had  been 
forced  by  some  magic  up  into  sight  from  a  hiding- 
place  below.  And  I  understood  the  cry  that  an- 
nounced discovery  indeed. 

I  did  not  move  toward  her.  I  only  looked  on. 
So  did  all  the  rest  of  the  spellbound  group,  including 
Judson  Bain  himself,  from  his  position  on  the  floor 
where  he  still  lay — while  the  girl  drew  the  papers 
together,  pressed  them  to  her  like  the  precious  pos- 
sessions they  were  now,  and  turned  to  her  brother. 
And  never  shall  I  forget  the  face  of  her  or  of  Hal 
as  she  put  them  into  his  hands. 

"  They  are  found,  indeed,"  was  what  she  said  as 
she  turned  back  to  me,  and  the  shout  that  Hal 
uttered  was  almost  an  echo  to  her  words,  as  he 
opened  the  curling  sheets  and  took  one  glance  at 
them  and  then  waved  them,1  in  wild  rejoicing  above 
his  head. 

I  turned  to  look  at  Bain.  The  fight  was  gone 
out  of  him  now.  He  sat  with  his  big  body  bent 
forward,  his  eyes  staring,  his  face  pale,  with  the 
beaten  look  on  his  drooping  lips,  with  his  hands 
spread  helplessly  on  the  floor  and  his  breath  coming 
in  gasps  that  suggested  shuddering. 

I  turned  to  the  marshal.  "  There's  your  man, 
Clausen,"  I  said.  "  He  isn't  the  one  you  came  for, 
but  he  will  do.  I  had  one  good  case  against  him, 
but  we'll  forget  that.  I  charge  him  with  conspiracy, 
and  I  will  appear  against  him  with  every  one  of  the 


Venus  Gives  Up  a  Secret          311 

men  who  is  with  us  here  as  a  witness  to  this  final 
scene." 

"But  where  were  those  papers  all  this  time?" 
asked  Aunt  Charlotte,  from  the  background  where 
she  had  stood  trembling  throughout  the  scene. 
"  Why  didn't  you  bring  them  forward  sooner,  Mr. 
Randall?" 

"  Because,"  said  I,  watching  Bain,  "  it  seems  that 
the  little  Venus  de  Milo  had  them — safely  stored 
in  her  hollow  interior.  Mr.  Bain  just  found  them 
for  us." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
WHAT  COULDN'T  BE  HELPED 

T  T  was  what  had  happened.  Simple  enough  it  was 
•*•  when  we  knew.  The  lost  papers  were  found. 
The  little  statuette,  like  all  other  plaster  casts,  was 
hollow,  and  none  of  us  had  remembered  it.  It  had 
been  the  hiding  place  Salver  had  chosen — with  clev- 
erness that  was  almost  our  undoing.  But  the  cane 
of  Judson  Bain,  intended  to  break  my  devoted  head, 
had  crushed  the  fragile  lady  instead  and  had  re- 
vealed her  secret  in  the  very  crisis  of  our  desperate 
case.  Hal  was  saved;  and  the  very  look  of  him  had 
changed  ten  minutes  after  the  convincing  evidence 
of  the  truth  of  his  whole  story  had  been  discovered. 
I  have  never  seen  happiness  and  assurance  do  any 
one  so  much  good  as  it  did  him  that  day. 

The  warlike  scene  in  the  library  ended  very 
promptly  indeed.  The  marshal  took  Bain  out.  He 
was  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  dazed  by  the  suddenness 
of  his  downfall.  His  aids  followed,  and  I  looked 
in  the  face  of  Curly  Conrad  and  laughed,  as  I  re- 
called the  last  time  I  had  faced  him.  And  the  little 
villain  dared  not  even  twist  his  face  at  me  because 
of  what  had  happened  to  his  principal. 

312 


What  Couldn't  be  Helped          313 

And  then — then  came  the  explanations  that  we 
needed  to  piece  out  our  story.  The  hunchback 
Garth,  whom  we  had  turned  over  to  the  servants  and 
had  nearly  forgotten  in  the  doings  of  the  hour,  came 
to  the  front  again,  and  told  us  a  tale  that  revealed 
many  things.  He  it  had  been  who,  happening  to  be 
at  the  house,  had  learned  of  the  revolver  in  the 
library  table  drawer  on  the  day  Hal  had  shot  at 
the  hawk.  And  he  it  was  who  had  told  Salver  of 
it.  Moreover,  he  remembered  that  it  had  not  been 
reloaded  before  Hal  put  it  back  into  the  drawer. 
That  was  all  in  his  confession.  Then  he  told  a 
strange  story.  The  girl  Luella  Westfall  had  indeed 
been  kidnapped  by  Bain  and  Scancey  and  was  even 
then  confined  in  Scancey's  house  where  he,  Garth, 
had  been  kept  out  of  sight.  He  told  of  a  conversa- 
tion he  had  overheard  that  explained  the  midnight 
run  of  the  automobile  from  Bain's  which  the  young 
lawyer,  Cole,  had  witnessed,  and  which  had  drawn 
me  off  upon  the  chase  to  Cold  Spring.  It  appeared 
that  the  girl  had  indeed  gone  to  Bain,  but  for  quite 
a  different  purpose  than  that  which  would  naturally 
be  ascribed  to  her.  Hers  was  a  sad  story  indeed. 
The  boy  stated  that  she  told  in  his  hearing — what 
was  afterward  a  part  of  her  testimony  in  court — 
that  she  was  the  lawful,  though  secret,  wife  of  no 
less  a  person  than  Clarence  Salver  himself,  and  that 
she  knew  that  he  had  robbed  the  offices  of  Judson 
Bain  and  intended  to  use  the  letters  he  had  found 
there  to  get  money  from  Hal,  Fenelon,  or  from 


314  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

Bain  himself.  Only  his  wild  violence  at  The  Hazels, 
which  had  resulted  in  the  shooting,  had  brought  his 
scheme  to  naught  and  himself  to  the  end  of  a  worth- 
less career.  The  hiding  of  the  papers,  almost  the 
final  act  of  his  life,  however,  was  characteristic  of 
him  in  the  cleverness  of  its  instantaneous  concep- 
tion and  execution.  Bain  had  taken  the  girl  in  hand 
with  threats  and  promises,  till  he  had  managed  to 
get  her  into  his  house ;  and  he  had  then  shut  her  up, 
taking  her  to  Cold  Spring  and  later  transferring 
her  back  to  Scancey's  home,  keeping  her  quiet  by 
frightening  her.  He  had  never  taken  her  to  Hart 
at  all,  so  Curly  Conrad  had  been  quick  enough  to 
fool  me  once,  at  least. 

But  when  Barnaby  was  notified  of  what  had  hap- 
pened at  The  Hazels,  there  quickly  developed  one 
more  amazing  thing.  The  strange  woman,  mother 
of  the  Westfall  girl,  had  found  her  own  tongue  after 
her  daughter's  mistreatment,  and  she  had  come  for- 
ward with  a  charge  that  capped  the  sheaf  of  Bain's 
villainy.  For  she  told  and  proved  abundantly  by 
letters  and  keepsakes,  strangely  cherished  through 
many  silent  years,  that  that  heartless  villain  was 
the  father  of  the  very  luckless  girl  whom  he  had 
tried  to  involve  in  shameful  scandal.  She  said  that 
she  herself  had  been  deserted,  but  had  finally  found 
the  author  of  her  trouble  and  had  forced  him  to 
care  for  them  both  on  pain  of  exposure.  Punk 
Salver,  the  mother  said,  had  discovered  the  truth 
about  the  time  he  had  married  her  daughter,  and 


What  Couldn't  be  Helped          315 

he  had  Brightened  the  girl  into  silence  about  their 
wedding,  while  he  himself  had  blackmailed  Bain. 
It  had  been  in  a  fit  of  anger,  because  Bain  would 
not  meet  an  unusually  heavy  demand,  that  he  had 
stolen  the  letters. 

It  was  a  sad  story,  indeed,  and  the  less  detailed 
the  better.  But  Barnaby  had  moved  quickly  enough 
to  compass  the  arrest  of  Scancey  and  the  finding  of 
the  girl  in  his  home.  Also  several  arrests  were 
made  at  Cold  Spring  on  my  complaint,  for  the 
shooting  that  had  nearly  done  for  me.  And  so 
before  our  morning  was  over  there  was  an  end  of 
the  necessity  for  us  to  hold  our  own  weapons,  for 
our  enemies  were  all  either  in  the  toils  or  disarmed. 

Doctor  Graham  came  before  we  had  finished  our 
talk  together  in  the  library.  It  was  at  his  order 
that  I  was  stretched  again  upon  my  bed  in  my  cham- 
ber; but  he  allowed  the  little  conclave  to  hold  ses- 
sion there  rather  than  shut  me  out  of  all  the  final 
explanations.  And  there  I  heard  the  complete 
stories  from  him  and  from  King  that  gave  me  their 
sides  of  the  matter.  It  was  no  wonder  that  they 
had  looked  upon  me  with  question.  I  realized  then, 
too,  that  King's  attitude  was  no  more  blameworthy 
toward  me  than  mine  toward  the  good  doctor,  for 
he,  if  not  a  wise  man,  was  true,  also.  He  told  us 
frankly  that  he  had  serious  doubt  of  the  existence 
of  the  letters  which  Hal  thought  he  had  seen,  from 
the  very  first,  and  he  related  a  number  of  instances 
of  various  sorts  of  self-deception  that  he  had  ob- 


316  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

served  in  nervous  sufferers,  to  show  that  his  posi- 
tion was  not  unreasonable.  But  I  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  his  feeling  and  I  have  only  ex- 
cused him  because  I  did  him  a  wrong  in  thinking 
that  he  might  have  had  to  do  with  the  disappearance 
of  the  letters,  and  because,  poor  chap,  I  learned 
afterwards,  that  he  himself  had  loved  Donna  Phil- 
brie,  even  as  I  did. 

As  for  King — that  honest  chap  came  to  me  and 
apologized  like  a  man  for  treating  me  as  he  had, 
and  my  liking  for  him  grew,  though  he  seemed  yet 
to  stand  between  me  and  all  that  made  my  share  in 
this  happy  finish  of  our  adventure  worth  while.  We 
parted  friends  when  he  went  back  to  town  that 
noon,  for  the  doctor  insisted  that  I  should  not  be 
allowed  to  move  again  till  my  wounds  were  thor- 
oughly healed,  and  the  Philbrics,  brother  and  sister, 
would  not  hear  to  my  going  to  a  city  hospital.  And 
that  night,  after  a  long  sleep  that  brought  back  some 
of  my  strength  again,  I  listened  to  a  brief  story 
from  the  boy  that  was  not  the  least  curious  part 
of  the  revelations,  nor  the  least  satisfactory  of  the 
developments  of  my  experience. 

"  Randall,"  he  said,  "  when  you  were  a  boy  you 
had  a  devoted  nurse  who  was  named  Maggie 
Valentine?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  answered.  Dear  old  Maggie ! 
She  had  taken  care  of  me  in  my  childhood  and  had 
been  the  most  devoted  of  nurses.  Afterwards  she 
had  gone  to  my  uncle's  household.  But  I  had  writ- 


What  Couldn't  be  Helped          317 

ten  to  her  for  years  and  had  sent  the  little  remit- 
tances I  have  mentioned,  for  my  affection  for  the 
kindly  woman,  who  had  done  much  for  me  after 
my  own  dear  mother  had  died,  had  been  one  of  the 
lasting  things  of  my  life. 

Hal  looked  at  me  and  laughed,  as  I  answered  him 
quite  unsuspectingly.  "  Don't  you  put  two  and  two 
together,  old  man?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  I  obtusely. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  boy,  "  I'll  have  to  do  it 
for  you.  Maggie  Valentine  was  also  nurse  to 
Donna  and  me  when  we  were  little  folks.  She  came 
to  our  home  from  yours." 

I  lay  quite  still  and  looked  up  at  him  with  my 
mind  leaping  swiftly  enough  now  to  grasp  explana- 
tions of  some  things  that  had  happened  to  me  at 
The  Hazels.  Hal  sat  beside  my  bed  watching  my 
face  and  enjoying  my  look.  Then  he  laughed  at 
me  again. 

"  You  are  a  little  tin  saint  to  Maggie,  Dan  Ran- 
dall," he  said.  "  She  idolized  you  as  a  small  boy 
if  ever  a  nurse  idolized  a  charge.  And  she  has 
talked  of  you  to  Donna  and  to  me  till  your  name 
has  been  to  us  like  the  name  of  a  favorite  character 
out  of  a  story  book.  And  we  have  known  Maggie 
all  these  years;  and  while  you  have  been  sending 
her  money  she  has  been  singing  your  praises  tire- 
lessly to  us.  Do  you  wonder  that  we  were  sur- 
prised and — interested — when  you  turned  up  to  take 
a  real  hand  in  the  affairs  of  the  Philbrics  as  you 


318  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

did  in  such  odd  fashion?  Do  you  wonder  we  felt 
that  we  knew  you  ?  " 

"  Good  old  Maggie ! "  said  I.  "  It  was  one  of 
my  plans  to  look  her  up  as  soon  as  I  should  arrive 
in  the  city.  So  that  is  the  story,  is  it?  That  was 
the  cause  of  my  welcome  when  I  came  without  in- 
troduction ?  " 

Hal  smiled  again.  "  That  was  your  introduc- 
tion, Randall."  But  he  continued  to  smile  at  me 
in  a  sort  of  enigmatic  way  and  I  knew  this  was  not 
all.  I  asked  him.  "  No,"  he  answered,  "  that  isn't 
all,  but  it  is  all  I  shall  tell  you — now." 

I  could  not  prevail  upon  him  to  give  me  any  fur- 
ther details  and  certain  recollections  then  made  me 
cease  to  ask  it  of  him.  But  later  I  learned  all  of 
the  rest. 

It  was  the  next  morning,  another  glorious  morn- 
ing of  April  sunshine,  that  Donna  and  Aunt  Char- 
lotte allowed  me  to  have  my  way  about  getting  up, 
to  the  extent  of  making  a  place  for  me  in  the  library 
again,  where  I  should  be  quiet;  and  old  John  in- 
sisted on  helping  me  down  thither,  though  I  felt 
fit  enough,  despite  the  disturbance  to  which  my 
hurts  had  been  subjected.  It  was  Sunday  morning, 
too,  and  I,  who  had  not  thought  even  to  name  a  day 
since  I  had  come,  read  the  paper's  accounts  of  the 
happenings  of  yesterday  and  smoked  my  forgotten 
pipe,  while  I  reckoned  now  the  even  week  since  a 
stalled  train  had  dropped  me  into  "  the  affairs  of 
the  Philbrics."  And  then  I  lay  and  listened  to 


What  Couldn't  be  Helped          319 

church  bells  ringing  across  a  peaceful  countryside 
and  let  a  dream  have  its  dangerous  course. 

It  was  while  I  lay  there,  thoughtfully  provided 
by  old  John  with  Hal's  tobacco-jar,  that  a  curious 
solution  of  our  final  and  now  almost  forgotten  mys- 
tery came  fairly  into  my  hand,  as  it  were.  The 
tobacco  had  not  been  touched  during  the  week  since 
the  startling  tragedy  had  broken  the  peace  of  the 
home,  and  I  was  the  first  to  use  the  jar.  I  found 
the  mixture  dry,  with  the  first  pipe  full,  and  it  was 
when  I  was  delving  more  deeply  for  the  second  sup- 
ply that  my  fingers  found  in  the  depths  of  the  jar 
a  curious,  hard  substance.  I  had  no  suspicion  what 
it  might  be  when  I  drew  it  out,  but  one  glance  was 
enough  when  I  held  it  up  to  the  light.  It  was  a 
misshapen  piece  of  lead — a  bullet — the  bullet!  It 
was  the  lost  third  bullet — the  one  that  Punk  Salver 
had  fired  at  Hal  on  the  morning  of  his  fatal  visit 
to  the  library  and  that  had  so  mysteriously  gone 
astray. 

How  to  account  for  its  presence  there  in  the 
tobacco- jar  was  at  first  almost  as  much  of  a  puzzle 
as  had  been  the  mystery  of  its  disappearance  previ- 
ously, but  I  studied  it  out.  Investigation  got  me  up 
from  my  couch  again,  but  it  resulted  in  satisfaction 
this  time.  Only  in  one  way  could  that  leaden  mis- 
sile have  found  its  way  into  the  jar,  and  that  was 
by  falling  in;  and  I  had  a  sudden  recollection  of 
the  story  Hal  had  told  of  how  old  John,  in  the  me- 
chanical operations  he  had  performed  about  the 


320  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

room  after  the  shooting  had  "  covered  the  tobacco- 
jar."  I  instantly  concluded  that  the  bullet  could 
only  have  hit  some  object  above  the  open  jar  and 
dropped  into  the  tobacco,  and  five  minutes  were  all 
that  was  necessary  to  fix  upon  the  chandelier  as  the 
object  hit.  Search  then  revealed  the  fact  that  the 
bullet  had  gone  high,  and  had  indeed  struck  the 
chandelier,  and  had  even  left  slight  trace  behind,  for 
it  had  entered  the  filigree  work  sphere  near  the  bot- 
tom and  struck  the  solid  tubing  within,  breaking 
out  a  small  piece  that  dropped  softly,  with  the  bullet 
itself,  from  the  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  sphere, 
to  respose,  all  unsuspected,  in  the  unused  tobacco, 
till  I  should  find  them  there. 

I  laid  the  things  aside  for  Hal  and  went  back  to 
my  couch  to  review  again  the  strange  order  of 
chance  that  had  played  tricks  with  us.  But  I  was 
not  long  alone,  for  it  was  then  that  Donna  came 
to  sit  by  me  and  talk  of  what  was  best  to  do  for 
Hal  and  his  health,  now  that  we  could  choose  what 
should  be  done.  But  we  did  not  talk  of  Hal — just 
then.  I  couldn't.  I  knew  what  would  be  good  for 
the  boy  and  it  would  be  time  enough  to  offer  my 
plan  again  when  I  was  in  condition  to  carry  out  the 
part  I  meant  to  have  in  it.  But  the  thing  I  had 
to  say  to  this  sweet  girl  would  not  wait.  Perhaps 
I  was  not  fair,  nor  considerate,  nor  kind,  nor  gen- 
erous— nor  any  of  the  other  things  a  lover  should 
be  to  the  girl  he  loves  when  he  finds  advantage  with 
him.  But  love  has  been  a  ruthless  thing  with  me 


What  Couldn't  be  Helped          321 

and  my  excuse  is  the  old,  old  one  that  men  have 
claimed  from  the  beginning.  I  could  not  help  it. 

She  sat  by  me  in  the  firelight  of  the  library,  and 
all  her  wonderful  beauty  laid  upon  me  a  spell  I 
could  not  have  conquered  if  I  had  had  the  will.  I 
plead  guilty  now  to  all  indictments  you  care  to 
bring.  But  I  must  needs  put  to  the  touch  my  fate, 
then  and  there,  without  reck  or  care  for  conse- 
quences if  the  end  did  not  justify  my  hope.  I  had 
played  the  cards  fate  had  dealt  to  me  and  I  must 
know  now  whether  it  was  to  lose  or  win. 

"  Donna,"  I  said  to  her,  when  good  Aunt  Char- 
lotte's interests  in  matters  of  the  household  kept  her 
away  from  us  and  opportunity  opened  wide  arms 
to  me,  "  I  can  travel  to  the  city.  My  wounds  won't 
suffer  for  it.  You  can  send  me  if  you  wish." 

She  began  to  demur,  with  a  smile  that  fanned  the 
flame  in  me  beyond  control.  Her  hands  lay  to- 
gether on  her  knees,  as  she  sat  regarding  me  witH 
earnest  eyes,  unsuspicious  yet  of  what  I  meant  to 
say.  I  put  my  own  upon  them,  covering  them  and 
holding  gently  against  her  first  startled  impulse  to 
draw  away.  And  then  I  spoke  as  earnestly  and 
bravely  as  I  could. 

"  Donna,"  I  said.  "  I  must  have  it.  I  love  you  ! 
Is  there  one  spark  of  hope  for  me?"  I  broke  off, 
for  it  was  my  all. 

Yes,  she  started  once  away  from  me.  I  felt  her 
fingers  tremble  and  strive.  But  I  held  them  and 
they  ceased  to  struggle.  But  what  shall  I  say  of 


322  A  Hand  in  the  Game 

the  wonder- joy  that  filled  my  soul  when  she  turned 
her  lovely  face  up  once  more  to  mine  and  the  smile 
— the  beautiful  smile  came  back  to  drive  the 
startled  surprise  away  and  to  give  me  the  answer 
for  which  I  had  scarcely  dared  to  dream  a  hope? 
And  whose  forgiveness  shall  I  ask  now  for  incon- 
sideration — now  that  I  have  hers  ? 

I  did  not  ask  her  about  King.  She  told  me.  He 
had  asked  her  to  marry  him;  not  once  only,  but 
many  times.  Poor  old  King!  She  simply  did  not 
love  him.  Why  she  should  love  me  instead  I  am 
content  to  leave  an  unanswered  question.  Indeed, 
what  would  love  be  worth  that  was  based  on  readily 
stated  reasons? 

But  she  told  me  then,  the  thing  dear  old  Maggie 
Valentine  had  said  and  repeated  many  times,  the 
memory  of  which  it  had  been  that  had  brought  the 
blood  to  her  face  that  first  day  of  mine  at  The 
Hazels. 

"  Dan,"  she  said,  "  Hal  told  you  about  Maggie?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  a  little.  Tell  me  the  rest 
now." 

She  laughed,  a  happy,  delighted  laugh.  "  She  was 
a  worshipper  at  your  shrine,  Dan,"  she  said.  "  Do 
you  know  what  she  has  said  to  me  over  and  over 
till  it  was  almost  like  a  prophecy?"  She  paused, 
then  whispered  softly,  '''Ah,  if  you  ever  know 
Danny  Randall,  child,'  she  told  me,  '  you  will  love 
him.'  " 

She  looked  up  with  her  face  all  pink  once  more 


What  Couldn't  be  Helped          323 

with  her  boldness ;  but  I  laughed  again.  "  And  that 
is  why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  answered. 

I  can  spend  my  life  telling  the  whys  of  my  love 
to  her,  and  I  shall  not  detail  what  more  is  said  to 
me  by  her  sweet  lips — the  dear,  tender  red  lips  that 
I  once  bruised  by  chance  so  cruelly ! 

No,  chance  doesn't  do  things  by  halves!  Oh, 
lucky,  lucky  little  ball  of  snow! 


THE  END 


STIRRING  MYSTERY  STORIES 

ANGEL   ESQUIRE 

By  EDGAR  WALLACE.    12mo,  $1.50. 

A  rattling  good  detective  story  in  which  an  inexperienced  girl 
has  to  contend  with  three  unscrupulous  and  daring  criminals  for 
millions  strangely  bequeathed  to  one  of  the  four. 

"Inspiring  originality.  Mr.  Edgar  Wallace  has  achieved  the  impossible. 
He  has  written  a  detective  story  having  for  its  hero  a  type  absolutely  new. 
Moreover,  to  make  his  book  completely  fascinating,  he  puts  before  his  hero 
a  problem  of  refreshing  fantasticality.  The  story  grows  breathlessly  excit- 
ing. Through  its  thrilling  developments,  Angel  Ksquire  moves  with  an  airy 
aplomb  that  is  irresistible.  All  the  time  he  is  smiling,  full  of  quaintuess 
and  humor." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


By  BURTON  E.  STEVENSON 
THAT   AFFAIR   AT   ELIZABETH 

Another  story  in  which  Lester,  the  young  lawyer,  and  Godfrey, 
the  reporter,  play  the  part  of  detectives  in  unraveling  a  modern 
mystery.  $1.50. 

"  A  well-constructed  detective  story  .  .  .  surrounding  the  disappearance 
of  a  bride  a  few  minutes  before  the  hour  set  for  her  wedding.  A  murder  is\ 
committed  at  a  bout  the  time  of  her  vanishing,  and  the  two  stories  are  vig- 
orously interwoven,  being  worked  out  to  a  surprising  conclusion." — 
Chicago  Post. 

"Starts  with  a  capital  situation.  .  .  .  The  reader  is  utterly  unable  to 
guess  at  the  secret.  —-ZV.  Y.  Tribune. 

THE  MARATHON   MYSTERY 

The  story  of  a  strange  happening  in  a  New  York  apartment 
house,  and  at  a  Long  Island  house  party.  The  plot  is  unusual, 
full  of  surprises;  the  handling  is  masterful.  It  has  been  repub- 
lished  in  England  and  Germany.  With  five  scenes  in  color  by 
ELIOT  KEEN.  $1.50. 

"The  author  has  stepped  at  once  to  the  front  ranks  among  American 
writers  of  detective  tales  ...  a  yarn  with  genuine  thrills." — Bookman. 

"  Distinctly  an  interesting  story — one  of  the  sort  that  the  reader  will  not 
lay  down  before  he  goes  to  bed." — New  York  Sun. 

THE   HOLLADAY   CASE 

This  remarkable  story  begins  with  the  finding  of  a  New  York 
banker  stabbed  to  death  in  his  office.  Suspicion  falls  on  his 
daughter.  A  kidnapping  and  pursuit  over  seas  follow.  The 
story  contains  a  minimum  of  horror  and  a  maximum  of  ingenu- 
ity, and  the  mystery  is  kept  up  to  the  next  tto  last  chapter. 
With  frontispiece  by  ELIOT  KEEN.  $1.25. 

"  A  good  detective  story,  and  it  is  the  better  because  the  part  of  the  hero 
is  not  filled  by  a  member  of  the  profession.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  not  want 
to  put  the  book  down  until  he  has  reached  the  last  page.  Most  ingeniously 
constructed  and  well  written  into  the  bargain." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  JOSEPH  VANCE 

A  touching  story,  yet  full  of  humor,  of  life-long  love  and 
heroic  sacrifice.  While  the  scene  is  mostly  in  and  near  the 
London  of  the  fifties,  there  are  some  telling  glimpses  of 
Italy,  where  the  author  lives  much  of  the  time  ($1-75  )• 

"  The  book  of  the  last  decade;  the  best  thing  in  fiction  since  Mr. 
Meredith  and  Mr.  Hardy;  must  take  its  place  as  the  first  great  English 
novel  that  has  appeared  in  the  twentieth  century." — LEWIS  MELVILLE  in 
New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

"  If  the  reader  likes  both  '  David  Copperfield  '  and  '  Peter  Ibbetson,' 
he  can  find  the  two  books  in  this  one." — The  Independent. 

WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  ALICE-FOR-SHORT 

This  might  paradoxically  be  called  a  genial  ghost-and- 
murder  story,  yet  humor  and  humanity  again  dominate,  and 
the  most  striking  element  is  the  touching  love  story  of  an 
unsuccessful  man.  The  reappearance  in  Nineteenth  Century 
London  of  the  long-buried  past,  and  a  remarkable  case  of 
suspended  memory,  give  the  dramatic  background  ($1.75). 

"  Really  worth  reading  and  praising  .  .  .  will  be  hailed  as  a  master- 
piece. If  any  writer  of  the  present  era  is  read  a  half  century  hence, 
a  quarter  century,  or  even  a  decade,  that  writer  is  William  De 
Morgan." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  is  the  Victorian  age  itself  that  speaks  in  those  rich,  interesting, 
over-crowded  books.  .  .  .  Will  be  remembered  as  Dickens'  novels  are 
remembered." — Springfield  Republican. 

WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  SOMEHOW  GOOD 

The  purpose  and  feeling  of  this  novel  are  intense,  yet  it  is 
all  mellowed  by  humor,  and  it  contains  perhaps  the  author's 
freshest  and  most  sympathetic  story  of  young  love.  Through- 
out its  pages  the  "  God  be  praised  evil  has  turned  to  good  " 
of  the  old  Major  rings  like  a  trumpet  call  of  hope.  This 
story  of  to-day  tells  of  a  triumph  of  courage  and  devotion 
($i.7S). 

"  A  book  as  sound,  as  sweet,  as  wholesome,  as  wise,  as  any  in  the 
range  of  fiction." — The  Nation. 

"  Our  older  novelists  (Dickens  and  Thackeray)  will  have  to  look  to 
their  laurels,  for  the  new  one  is  fast  proving  himself  their  equal.  A 
higher  quality  of  enjoyment  than  is  derivable  from  the  work  of  any 
other  novelist  now  living  and  active  in  either  England  or  America." — 
The  Dial. 

HENRY     HOLT    AND     COMPANY 

34  WEST  3 3D  STREET  (vii' 10)  NEW  YORK 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  IT  NEVER  CAN  HAPPEN  AGAIN 

This  novel  turns  on  a  strange  marital  complication,  and  is 
notable  for  two  remarkable  women  characters,  the  pathetic 
girl  Lizarann  and  the  beautiful  Judith  Arkroyd,  with  her 
stage  ambitions.  Lizarann's  father,  Blind  Jim,  is  very  ap- 
pealingly  drawn,  and  shows  rare  courage  and  devotion  despite 
cruel  handicaps.  There  are  strong  dramatic  episodes,  and 
the  author's  inevitable  humor  and  optimism  ($1.75). 

"  De  Morgan  at  his  very  best,  and  how  much  better  his  best  is 
than  the  work  of  any  novelist  of  the  past  thirty  years." — Independent, 

"  There  has  been  nothing  at  all  like  it  in  our  day.  The  best  of 
our  contemporary  novelists  ...  do  not  so  come  home  to  our  business 
and  our  bosoms  .  .  .  his  method  ...  is  very  different  in  most 
important  respects  from  that  of  Dickens.  He  is  far  less  the  showman, 
the  dashing  prestidigitator  .  .  .  more  like  Thackeray  .  .  .  precisely 
what  the  most  '  modern  '  novelists  are  striving  for — for  the  most  part 
in  vain  .  .  .  most  enchanting  .  .  .  infinitely  lovable  and  pathetic." — 
The  Nation, 

"  Another  long  delightful  voyage  with  the  best  English  company  .  .  . 
from  Dukes  to  blind  beggars  .  .  .  you  could  make  out  a  very  good 
case  for  handsome  Judith  Arkroyd  as  an  up-to-date  Ethel  Newcome 
.  .  .  the  stuff  that  tears  in  hardened  and  careless  hearts  are  made 
of  ...  singularly  perceiving,  mellow,  wise,  charitable,  humorous 
...  a  plot  as  well  denned  as  if  it  were  a  French  farce." — The  Times 
Saturday  Review. 

"  The  characters  of  Blind  Jim  and  Lizarann  are  wonderful — worthy 
of  Dickens  at  his  best." — Professor  WILLIAM  LYOH  PHEL°S,  of  Yale, 
author  of  "  Essays  on  Modern  Novelists." 


WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN'S  AN  AFFAIR  OF  DISHONOR 

A  dramatic  story  of  England  in  the  time  of  the  Restoration. 
It  commences  with  a  fatal  duel,  and  shows  a  new  phase  of  its 
remarkable  author.  The  movement  is  fairly  rapid,  and  the 
narrative  absorbing,  with  occasional  glints  of  humor  ($1.75). 


»*#  A  thirty-two  page  illustrated  leaflet  about  Mr.   De  Morgan,  with 
complete  reviews  of  his  first  four  books,  sent  on  request. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


ROMAIN   HOLLAND'S 

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 

DAWN       •       MORNING       •       YOUTH       •       REVOLT 

Translated  by  GILBERT  CANNAN. 


600  pp.     $1.50  net;  by  mail,  $1.62, 

It  commences  with  vivid  episodes  of  this  musician's  child- 
hood, his  fears,  fancies,  and  troubles,  and  his  almost  uncanny 
musical  sense.  He  plays  before  the  Grand  Duke  at  seven, 
but  he  is  destined  for  greater  things.  An  idol  of  the  hour,  in 
some  ways  suggesting  Richard  Strauss,  tries  in  vain  to  wreck 
his  faith  in  his  career.  Early  love  episodes  follow,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  book,  the  hero,  like  Wagner,  has  to  fly,  a  hopeful 
exile. 

"  '  Hats  off,  gentlemen — a  genius.'  .  .  .  Has  the  time  come  for 
the  zoth  century  to  uncover  before  a  master  work?  A  book  as  big, 
as  elemental,  as  original  as  though  the  art  of  fiction  began  to-day." — 
Springfield  Republican. 

"  The  most  momentous  novel  that  has  come  to  us  from  France,  or 
from  any  other  European  country,  in  a  decade.  .  .  .  Highly 
commendable  and  effective  translation  .  .  .  the  story  moves  at 
a  rapid  pace.  It  never  lags." — E.  F.  Edgett  in  Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  characters  of  his  story  prove  that  he  embraces  with  a  loving 
understanding  the  seven  ages  of  man.  ...  It  not  only  contains 
a  picture  of  contemporary  musical  life,  but  holds  a  message  bearing 
on  our  conception  of  life  and  art.  It  presents  genius  for  once  without 
the  morbid  features  that  obscure  its  essence." — Amelia  von  Ende  in 
New  York  Times  Review. 

"  An  amazing  performance  carried  through  by  an  exceptionally 
gifted  writer.  ...  It  demands  more  than  one  reading  on  account 
of  the  wider  life  in  the  basin  through  which  its  river  flows." — N.  Y. 
Tribune. 

"  The  other  hosts  of  characters  are  drawn  with  the  accuracy  and  sympathy  of 
Dickens  and  without  his  tendency  to  caricature.  .  .  .  M.  Holland  is  as  real- 
istic as  Zola,  and  as  discerning  of  inner  motive  and  conduct  as  Meredith.  He 
has  a  supreme  gift  for  seeing  and  telling  things.  .  .  .  The  first  impulse  is  to 
regard  that  opening  chapter  a  miracle." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  Not  to  know  this  work  will  soon  be  to  argue  oneself  unknown  in  the  realm 
of  those  devoted  to  the  best  fiction." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


JURY  UNANIMOUS   FOR 

"GOOD    MEN    AND    TRUE" 

By  EUGENE  MANLOVE  RHODES 

A  tense  but  humorous  tale  of  a  brave  man  in  deadly 
peril  on  our  Texan  border.  The  "Remington"  in 
this  case  is  not  a  rifle,  but  a  typewriter.  With  two 
illustrations.  $1.00  net.  By  mail,  $1.06. 

Life: — "A  lighthearted  love  of  fun  and  a  jolly 
ingenuity  of  invention.  .  .  .  Julius  Casar  and  a 
Remington  typewriter  play  unforeseeable  roles  .  .  . 
short,  rapid  and  entertainingly  unhackneyed." 

Tribune: — "Deserves  a  popular  success  .  .  .  full 
of  genuine  humor." 

Everybody's: — "The  young  writer  who  does  this 
clever  bit  of  fooling  for  us  wears  a  mind  of  his  own 
beneath  his  motley." 

Chicago  Record-Herald: — "  Highly  entertaining,  the 
best  of  good  stories." 

Chicago  Post: — "Granting  its  mad  impossibility,  it 
has  its  full  share  of  interest  and  more  than  its  share  of 
originality." 

Springfield  Republican:  "About  as  good  as  it  could 
be  made." 

Philadelphia  Press : — "Abounds  in  real  humor  and 
has  a  touch  that  is  unmistakably  Stevensonian." 

Living  Age: — "As  genuine  a  comedy  of  bloodshed 
as  the  literature  of  American  manners  can  furnish." 

Boston  Transcript : — "  One  of  the  best  of  the  season's 
criminal  tales." 

Providence  Journal: — "Rapidly  moving  and  amusing." 
Hartford  Courant : — "  Its  wit  and  ingenuity  are  un- 
deniable." 

San  Francisco  Argonaut : — "Wholly  delightful,  typi- 
cally American." 

HENRY     HOLT 

PUBLISHERS 


Books  in  Which  to  Renew  One's  Youth 


INEZ  HAYNES  GILLMORE'S  PHOEBE  AND  ERNEST 

With  30  illustrations  by  R.  F.  SCHABELITZ.     $1.50. 

Phoebe  and  Ernest  Martin,  who  lately  created  such  en 
thusiasm  among  readers  of  the  American  Magazine,  here 
appear  with  new  incidents  which  make  this  book  a  complete 
chronicle  of  the  typical  American  brother  and  sister  of  higt 
school  age. 

Parents  will  recognize  themselves  in  the  story,  and  laugl 
understandingly  with,  and  sometimes  at,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Martir 
and  their  children. 

Youths  and  maidens  will  understand  Phoebe  and  Ernest's 
experiences  and  problems. 

"  Attracted  delighted  attention  in  the  course  of  its  serial  publication, 
Sentiment  and  humor  are  deftly  mingled  in  this  clever  book." — N.  Y. 
Tribune. 


JOHN  MATTER'S  ONCE 

i2mo.     $1.20  net ;  by  mail,  $1.30. 

An  idyl  of  boy  and  girl  life  in  a  small  town  in  the  Middle 
West,  intended  for  grown-ups  as  a  guide  to  pleasant  recollec- 
tions. 

"If  you  would  betaken  back  to  your  childhood  days  read  this  charm- 
ing story  of  the  happy  larks  of  these  real  children." — Chicago  Evening 
Post. 

"  Pleasant  reminders  of  childish  incidents  which  will  awaken  memories 
In  all  his  readers.  .  .  .  His  youngsters  have  individuality  of  their 
own," — New  York  Sun. 

ALGERNON  BLACKWELL'S  THE  EDUCATION  OF 
UNCLE  PAUL 

By  the  author  of  "  JOHN  SILENCE."    $1.50. 

Boston  Transcript  :  "Quite  the  most  unusual  book  of  the  year.  .  .  . 
Such  an  outline  is  powerless  to  suggest  the  charm  of  the  book.  The  in- 
tercourse of  children,  animals  and  uncle  is  compounded  of  humor, 
affection,  the  subtlest  of  observation  and  the  most  convincing  fan- 
tasy. .  .  .  Nixie  is  so  utterly  captivating  .  .  .  gratefully  the  reader 
treads  the  mysterious  ways  with  them  .  .  .  many  a  subtle  experience,  a 
riot  of  imagination  .  .  .  the  beauty  of  conception  and  the  quality  of 
its  exquisite  execution."  (Entire  notice  on  application  to  the  publishers.) 


HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


1.25 


A     000  1 24  672 


